


Seventy Three Seconds

by RedHead



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotions, M/M, Mild Gore, Murder, Oral Sex, Sex, and a bit jealous, and possessive, and protective, explicit violence (chapter 16), if you're willing to squint, len is a drama queen, mentions of barry's unrequited feelings for others, puns, so many puns, some h/c, technically canon-compliant through and including the end of season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 109,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3623244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHead/pseuds/RedHead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after S01 E16 (Rogue Time).</p><p>With a meta-human on his tail, Leonard Snart turns to the Flash for some information on how to stop them, and gets more than he bargained for along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just your friendly neighbourhood speed-dial speedster

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Семьдесят три секунды](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7594567) by [snow_leopard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snow_leopard/pseuds/snow_leopard)



“Seventy three seconds, Flash,” he enunciated the name like a jibe. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

“Well pardon me if I had to make some excuses on my way out the door, Cold,” the Flash shot back, ground still sparking under his feet from the speed of his steps as he came to an abrupt halt a few meters from Leonard. “What am I doing here, Snart? I thought we agreed to see as little of each other as possible.”

And they had. After learning the Flash’s identity and mutually agreeing to their truce of sorts, Leonard—“Captain Cold”—and the Flash were skirting each other carefully. This was made easier in part because Len had been too busy in the past few weeks to run any jobs—dealing with attempts on his life from the mafia and the bringing together the Rogues. Oh and musn’t the kid just hate that the name was catching on thanks to him. 

But skirting the Flash didn’t mean ignoring him. Len knew that if he wanted to succeed at jobs in the future, he would have to up his game, have to think deeper and start off with even more information. That was the key to staying one step ahead of the cops—know their patterns and exploit their weaknesses. The same thing had been true of the Flash—of Barry Allen—who had so many weaknesses to exploit. But there was one thing he did have that Len couldn't beat, and that was his speed. And if he couldn’t beat that, he would have to learn to work around it.

Knowing that, it all came down calibration: find out the Flash’s response time to anywhere in the city, depending on his point of origin, and he could plan his jobs accordingly. And so he had taken to doing almost entirely that in his spare time—studying the enigma of the Flash by researching Barry Allen. 

He learned Barry’s schedule, from his work shifts to what nights he was at S.T.A.R. Lab to the nights he went out to trivia and the evenings he just spent at home. He had then tracked how fast the Flash could respond to an incident anywhere in the city from wherever he was on a given night. He kept an eye on the news, on Central City blogs, and kept an eye on as many low-life (and high-life) criminals as he could. The kid’s times were a lot more variable than the police—they likely hinged on who he was with when he got the call and what he was doing—but he was exponentially faster than the police, and Len hadn’t quite figured out a way around that yet.

But that wasn’t why he had called Barry Allen—whose cellphone number had been far too easy to find—and told him to come out to the less-than-savory end of the warehouse district.

“What, didn’t feel like telling Detective West that you were skipping out on pizza night to come and chat with old Captain Cold?”

Barry’s eyes widened under the red helmet-like hood he wore. “Wha—but—how did you know that—”

“Please, kid, your patterns are perfectly predictable. You do the same thing every Wednesday night with the old man, unless there’s some superhuman disaster around making a mess of Central City, at least.”

“You’ve been stalking me?!” 

Honestly, Len was surprised that the boy was so incredulous—did he think Leonard wouldn’t do his research? Barry hadn’t even noticed his mention of the real reason he’d called the kid.

“It’s called casing, kid, don’t take it personally. I intend to stay one step a head of you—and at your speed, that’s not exactly easy. But that’s not what I called you to talk about.”

At the very least, he didn’t mind that he had gotten the upper hand in the conversation so easily, with the Flash still obviously uncomfortable about being watched unawares. 

“So why did you call me?” To his credit, he didn’t ask how Len got his number at least.

“You might be aware, but I made a few enemies when I came back to Central and shook up the Santini family—”

“You don’t say.”

“I do. And one of them in particular is making my life a bit of a pain, and—”

“Oh no, no no no. Don’t think for one second that I’m going to help you with whatever hit men are coming after you because you know my identity; that is not how this works, Snart!”

“That is not what I’m—”

“Did you think that I’m some kind of ally since I haven’t tried to mess with your Rogues friends recently, because that’s only because I’ve had bigger fish to fry! I’m not some criminal like you, Snart!”

“That’s why I called you, kid, because of those “bigger fish.” You see—”

“Do I need to remind you that you’ve kidnapped not one, but TWO of my best friends and—”

Len hoisted the cold gun from his side and aimed it at the Flash. In the space of a second, everything tensed and the kid finally shut his trap. He looked like he was ready to dash, but well—you win some you lose some.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got a bad habit of interrupting people?” he lowered the gun by a smidge, relaxing his arm. “I’m not here to fight and I’m not here because I think you suddenly want to team up or play house”—a weird metaphor, his mind supplied, but he kept talking—“I’m here because I have a superhuman freak on my tail and I’ve got reason to believe that’s your area of expertise.”

“Wait, you’re dealing with a meta-human?”

Ah, so that’s what they were called. Casing the Flash’s appearances had turned up something interesting—Barry Allen wasn’t the only one in Central City who could do things that were beyond what any normal human could. A surprisingly amount of the crimes he stopped seemed to deal with people doing things that were presumably impossible, much the same way as a man who could run faster than the speed of sound was presumably impossible. Len had had put two and two together though—his research told him Barry Allen had been struck by lightning in the particle accelerator accident, and he knew the Flash was working with S.T.A.R. Labs. It didn’t take a genius to figure out some of these gifted individuals had got their powers the same way as little Barry did.

“If that’s what they’re called, then yes—a meta-human. And I know that you put in a good amount of overtime whenever one of them starts kicking up a fuss, so I thought you might be interested.”

Now the other man looked wary, but Len knew he finally had his attention.

“He’s a mercenary who goes by the name of Deadline. He contracts his services out to different families across North America, ones who end up with thorns in their sides that need dealing with.”

“And let me guess—you’re the thorn?”

He nodded, spreading his arms and mock bowing.

“So why call me? Can’t you just blast him with your cold gun and be done with it?”

“Oh I tried that. Not only does this body armor he wears prevent the cold from getting to him, but I’ll admit it took me by surprise when the blast went right through him—literally. It turns out that solid walls and objects don’t really deter Mr. Deadline.”

“Wait—he disappears?”

“No, Flash, he becomes intangible, or phases out somehow. He’s there and visible, but not solid.”

“So he’s definitely a meta-human then.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.” Goddamn the kid could be slow on the uptake.

“And what do you want me to do about it? Seems like your problem, Snart.” He made as if to go.

“Isn’t this what you and your merry band of scientists do, Flash—lock up people with powers in that little pipeline of yours?”

The Flash was half turned away already but stopped and narrowed his eyes. “You’ve kept a really close eye on things, haven’t you? But as far as I can tell, if this Deadline guy is just mopping up the city by dealing with guys like you, it’s not really our problem.”

“And when the Santini family decides to go after some innocent business owner who can’t pay their “taxes,” or a politician who opposes them? And here I thought you do-gooders weren’t so cold-hearted.”

The Flash had turned away so he couldn’t see the man’s face, but Len was fairly confident from the tension in his shoulders that he’d struck a cord.

“If we take out Deadline, we’ll just be helping you,” he shouted over his shoulder. The boy really did like to shout, didn’t he? Why not just turn around and have a civil conversation? He was leaving his back open too, someone should talk to him about the risks he took with his personal safety.

“Helping me and his countless other victims, not all of whom have my…colourful past,” Len, on the other hand, liked to keep his voice controlled, still like him.

Abruptly, with a red whoosh Barry was toe to toe with him, up in his space in a way that made Len want to instinctively step back. He didn’t though, at the last minute, but stood up straighter and locked eyes with Barry, inches away.

“If we lock up Deadline, we do it my way, Cold. I’m not here to be at your beck and call and if I have any reason to suspect this situation isn’t exactly what you’ve told me—I’m out,” Barry punctuated this point by curling his fist (in what he assumed was supposed to be) menacingly into the fabric of Len’s jacket. 

He was close enough for Len to feel his breath, and he wanted so badly to put the brat in his place. As it was, he narrowed his eyes and held his ground, but let himself lean into the Flash’s space. “All I’m here for is some intel on how to stop the guy, kid, I’m not asking you to mop up the city for me.”

Barry’s grey-green eyes were defiant in a way that still seemed childish, but the intensity of his gaze was somehow commanding at the same time. He supposed it was what allowed the Flash to be the Flash—a steady and unwavering determination, with a dash of complete recklessness. “I just said we do it my way, and that means not just killing him. We have that pipeline for a reason.”

“Fine, if he comes quietly he lives. And how does one go about stopping a ‘meta-human,’ Flash?”

The younger man finally released his jacket and stepped back a foot. Len released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Standing next to that much raw power was exhilarating.

“Each one’s different. I’ll get back to you once we know more about this guy. And you can always call me if he shows, since I guess I'm on your speed dial now.” 

Len was about to comment on how cheeky he was, but he was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- All puns intended. So many puns.  
> \- This is a WIP. I have a plot outlined (~6 chapters), but I do not guarantee actually finishing it because I'm not typically a writer. I'll try to keep it short so that I actually reach the end.  
> \- Will be porn-y in the future.


	2. Is this where you normally hold your "friendly" conversations?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite some concern from his friends, Barry's agreed to track this meta-human down. It might not be so bad if Leonard Snart wasn't ~~stalking~~ stopping him for uncomfortable "friendly chats" in back alleys.

“You agreed to what?!”

“I didn’t _agree_ to anything, Caitlin—I said we’d look into it!” Barry was pleading his case the next day at STAR Labs. He’d just barely got off work and they were already arguing in the lab together, waiting for Cisco to come back from a late lunch with his brother. He’d sort of hoped that he might be able to get Caitlin on his side before Cisco showed up—since lunch with his brother really wasn’t going to help Barry with the “let’s save Captain Cold” campaign—but so far it wasn’t going that well.

“‘Look into it’ is basically agreeing to help him, Barry! Why didn't you call us when he phoned you?”

“I could handle it! It wasn’t like he was threatening me, he said he just wanted to talk,” and now she had him on the defensive. Smooth, Allen.

“We’re a team, Barry, you don’t have to do things on your own. What if something had happened to you?” She was doing that thing where she looked concerned and it just made him feel an unfortunate combination of guilty and miserable so he swiveled his chair to buy time before answering. He didn’t really feel like he could tell her his suspicions about Wells, not yet, and other than that didn’t have much of a good reason for why he hadn’t immediately contacted the team.

“Something could happen to who? Barry?” speak of the Devil. Dr. Wells glided into the room in a chair that Barry had started wondering if he really needed at all.

“Dr. Wells—hi! Uh, no, nothing’s happening to anyone, not to me, anyway.”

“Barry thinks we should help Leonard Snart—”

“Caitlin!”

“You do!”

“WHAT?” and apparently Cisco was also back, an ultra-sized slurpee slack in his hand at his side.

“ _Arhhg._ ” Barry sprang up from his seat and grabbed his hair. “That’s not what I said! Cold’s being tailed by a meta-human and I think we should look into it—that’s all!”

“Leonard Snart is being followed by a meta-human?” that was Dr. Wells again, his chair rolling closer to Barry.

“Yes. Maybe. That’s what he thinks?” he wished it didn’t come out sounding like a question. He stole a glance at Cisco but the other man was still just standing in the doorway, looking apprehensive.

“And why does Mr. Snart know about meta-humans, Barry?”

Oh crap.

“He maybe-sorta-kinda has been stalking me? But not _stalking_ stalking, just reading Flash blogs and my work schedule and—“

“Barry!” that was Caitlin.

“Look, it’s fine! He’s been researching me and keeping tabs on me since our last encounter, and I guess he noticed that there’s some strange abilities in a lot of the people we put away.”

Caitlin looked put upon, Dr. Wells inscrutable, and Cisco was slowly coming into the room to ask “So what’s the plan, Barry?”

“I… I was thinking we would look into it? Snart says his cold gun’s blast went straight through this guy, like he could make himself stop being solid? Maybe we could try and find out if there’s any strange occurrences that fit that description in Central City since the particle accelerator exploded?"

“Or where and what he was doing when it exploded,” Dr. Wells suggested, wheeling past Barry toward the computers. “It might give us a better clue as to his powers. Does he turn into a mist like Kyle Nimbus?”

“No, more like he just becomes…intangible?”

“Oooh, I’m thinking something with the word Ghost, maybe—”

“Deadline. Snart says he calls himself Deadline. I guess he’s a mercenary or something.”

Cisco looked like Barry had kicked his puppy. “So first we have to deal with Captain Cold, and now the villain already has a nick name?”

“Wait, so we’re really doing this?” Caitlin still looked upset. “We’re talking about a man who kidnapped me and almost killed me, kidnapped Cisco and _tortured_ his brother, and who's killed who knows how many people? He almost killed you too, Barry!”

She was right, and he knew it. A quiet descended on the room as they all faced him to await his response, even Dr. Wells. He felt suddenly aware of his own body and presence under the attention—the cotton of his sweater felt too warm and scratchy, his legs full of energy and ready for a run, his hair still messy from pulling his hands through it in frustration. But he took the time to look at each of them individually, measuring their reactions.

“Look… I know. I know what Snart has done, and I’m not about to pretend I trust him, even for a second. But I also know that if he’s being trailed by some mercenary meta-human, then I’m going to see what I can do the stop this guy. I won’t ask you guys to join me if you don’t want—I know what he’s done to you, to your families. Caitlin’s right, I’m the one who agreed to help Snart, not you guys, and I don’t expect any of you to help someone who’s hurt you like he has.”

“Barr, you really wanna’ do this?” Cisco asked.

“I do… I just think that, even if we don’t trust Snart, we still have a responsibility to the people of this city.”

“Then I’m in, man.”

“For real?”

“Of course.” Barry was a bit surprised that Cisco was the most open to it, but in a way it made sense. Cisco never let anything hold him back from moving forward, maybe not even being kidnapped by Cold.

Caitlin looked at him sombrely. “Barry, you know I have your back, no matter what. Like I said, we’re a team.”

He felt something in his chest loosen when she said that with her little half-smile and tilted shoulder, shy but earnest whenever she declared her allegiances. It was good to have his team.

“Dr. Wells? How about it?”

“Well, Mr. Allen, it looks like we have a meta-human to track down.”

 

**********

 

Tracking down Deadline didn’t turn up much the first night. Caitlin and Cisco spent the evening debating what he must be able to do on an atomic or cellular level to become intangible, but without seeing it or having his DNA, it was hard to come up with more than vague theories for how to hold him. They weren’t even sure they could stick him in the pipeline or if he would simply walk out again, as it depended on what secrets were hiding in his DNA.

To work off some frustration, Barry spent the rest of the night running through the city, keeping an eye open for anything out of the ordinary but mostly just running to run. He stopped a robbery in progress, a mugging, and a few other petty crimes before turning home close to midnight.

The next day he jogged to work, still kind of wanting to dodge Joe after bailing on their pizza night. He hadn’t said anything about Snart yet and wasn’t sure what he was going to say when he did. Joe knew he and Snart had agreed to tentatively skirt one another, but somehow he didn’t think his adoptive father would approve of helping one of the most ruthless thieves Central City was home to. At present, his plan was to just avoid the conversation until they caught Deadline and it became irrelevant (because Joe never figured things out when Barry didn’t explicitly tell him, ha).

He told his brain to take a hike with that attitude. He was most of the way to work and came to a halt in the ally behind Jitters to quickly change into his regular (non-running Flash suit) clothes and grab a coffee. Just a quick—

“Why hello, Barry.”

“YI-A-A— _when the hell did you get here_?!”

Barry jumped half out of his skin—and out of his lightning fast wardrobe change—when he heard Snart’s voice boom in the alleyway. Bastard always had to make an entrance.

“Oh sorry, did I catch you with your pants down—literally?”

Barry flushed, realizing he had stalled with one pant leg mostly on and his knee stuck in the other when he was startled by Snart’s voice. He finished hopping into them while facing away from the other man, attempting to preserve some dignity.

“Is that what you do, just carry the suit around with you everywhere?”

“Pretty much,” he finished pulling on his shoes without looking back at the other man.

“How on Earth do you keep it from smelling? You must sweat all the time in that thing.”

“You really ambushed my morning coffee run to ask me about my laundry habits?” Barry quickly folded the suit back into his bag and turned around to glare at the other man. Speaking of laundry habits, who wore a heavy jacket in this weather? Probably just to hide the cold gun, and whatever else the man carted around. He was leaning against a brick wall halfway down the narrow alley, looking comfortably smug and sipping on a steaming cup of coffee.

“No, unfortunately I’m here on business.”

Business, really? Is that what they were going to call it?

“Look, Snart, if you want to talk about meta-humans, now isn’t in the best time—I’m gonna’ be late for work, because unlike you, I actually have a day job,” he moved toward the entrance of the alley but Snart stood off the wall and blocked his path.

“Chill out, kid, your shift doesn’t start for fifteen minutes—plenty of time for a friendly chat,” he smirked and Barry scowled. Was the man just going to gloat about knowing his work schedule, not to mention what time he usually grabbed coffee?

“Make it quick.”

“It takes you less than ten seconds to get to work from here, Scarlet, I think you can spare more than a few seconds for me.”

“Whatever, Snart, just stop wasting my time—did you find out something new about this meta-human or what?” he ground out through his teeth, coming to stand a few feet from the other man, who stepped away from the wall and toward Barry. They stood there for a minute sizing one another up in the daylight for the first time—Barry noticing their similarity in height, the broadness of the other’s chest and shoulders, the casual confidence he exuded—before Snart broke the silence.

“I was rather wondering if you had talked with your merry band of do-gooders about the situation yet, come up with any ideas on his walk-through-walls trick? Communication and good planning are the key to any operation, you know.”

“We’re not in any operation together, Cold—my team is doing its thing, and you’re trying not to die in the meantime.”

“And I am very good at not dying,” was everything he said going to be in that weird sardonic voice? “but knowing how to kill him would help, if your friends at STAR Labs have come up with any genius plans since the other night.”

“I told you that you’re not killing him unless it happens in self-defense—you know we have a pipeline for that,” Barry was starting to get a headache just talking to the other man, the entire conversation felt pointless and frustrating. He could tell Cold wasn’t a fan the not-killing plan from the way he stood up a bit straighter, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. This what was what they had agreed upon though, so he would have to suck it up. “And we need to find out exactly how he does what he does before we can come up with any plans. Knowing his cell structure and what he does on atomic level to phase out of a solid state is the next step, so unless you’ve got some of his DNA handy, I don’t see why we’re bothering to have this conversation.”

They were squaring off just two feet from each other now and Snart took a step closer, into his space. “And how do you plan to get his DNA if you can’t catch the man or physically touch him?”

Barry held his ground, puffing his chest out ever so slightly. “You let us figure that out. Right now just finding this guy is going to be the hard part, so unless you can help with that, get out of my way so I can get to work.”

“Not so hard as all that. I happen to know where he’ll be this evening, in fact.”

“Why didn’t you just start with that?!” Ugh, Barry was ready to pull out his hair. It didn’t help that Snart was a foot away and looking still smug, cool as you please while sipping his coffee, and Barry was getting more agitated by the second.

“All in good time, Mr. Allen, I wanted to know what you knew first.”

Of course he did. Barry barely stopped himself from punching a wall in frustration. He almost wished he could step back from Snart but didn't want to give any ground in whatever weird show-down they were having. From the hard line of the other man’s shoulders under the parka and how much he’d slowly insinuated himself into Barry’s comfort zone, he was pretty sure Snart was also very much aware of the power struggle that was occurring. Instead of stepping back, Barry pushed a few inches forward, almost toe to toe with the other, a frission of electricity working through his frame, making him want to speed up and show Snart what he thought of his attitude. He held himself in check though, and settled for matching Snart’s icy gaze.

“Well what I know is nothing, so could you hurry up and tell me what _you_ know? Don’t forget that you asked me for help, not the other way around.”

Snart didn’t break eye contact so Barry didn’t either, but his voice was smooth when he said, “Tonight, Deadline will at the Royal Rock Docks at eleven pm. He’ll be there because I’ll be there, and the Santini family knows it.”

Barry opened his mouth to ask what Cold was doing at the docks (it couldn’t be good) but the other man kept talking.

“Ah, ah, Mr. Allen, didn’t we establish that your habit of cutting people off is terribly rude? As I was saying, Deadline will be there and I can handle myself, but if you want to find a way to stop the man, do come prepared with a plan.”

Condescension leaked from his words and Barry grit his teeth in response. He was close enough to see the mischief in the other’s cold blue eyes, clearly amused. After a moment, Snart turned to go and Barry had a sudden thought: “How do I know it’s not a trap, Cold?”

The other man actually barked out a surprised laugh. “Do you really think I’d go to this trouble for you, Flash, when we can have such quaint chit chats like this? Be there or don’t, it’s up to you. But if you want to get the drop on Deadline, do be _on time_.”

“Oh _shit!_ ”

Barry was gone like a speeding bullet, and made it to the precinct five minutes late for work and no coffee to show for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Barry, can't catch a break? I'm not as pleased as I could be with this chapter but I don't see it improving any more. I've noticed that I have a harder time writing Barry's perspective, but thankfully the next chapter will start in Leonard's POV, and hopefully I'll get to expand upon his developing and mercurial attraction to Barry. If I can work it in, some of his steamier thoughts will be showcased.
> 
> Also, I've got a plot outlined for probably 7 (maybe 8) chapters, and I'll be bringing in some subplot elements, like Barry's distrust of Dr. Wells. I have to do some more research on Deadline's abilities (he's a real DC minor villain) soon, but I've got plans and some scenes written for later stuff (some of which has to be re-written because I've already come up with a better idea for Chapter 4 than my original one).
> 
> Thanks for all the comments so far! Glad you guys are enjoying it! I'll try to get the next chapter up soon.
> 
>  
> 
> ps - you'll start to notice in each chapter that both Barry and Len switch around what they think of and call one another (Cold/Flash, Barry/Leonard, Mr. Allen/Snart... it's entirely purposeful, and is meant to reflect the different ways they are considering one another.)


	3. Don’t know who you think you’re fooling, this thing is electric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len isn’t obsessed with the Flash, honestly.

“Heh.”

The kid was off as a blur and Len watched him for a brief moment until he was out of sight. Then he smiled to himself, dumped his coffee—didn’t like the stuff anyway, just liked lording it over the Flash—and started toward home, contemplating their interaction. He was generally pleased with how the conversation went, and not at all sad about how it started. Having a one-up on the Flash was always a pleasant way to start his day, and the view hadn’t been anything to complain about.

But truth be told, as much as he had enjoyed unnerving the kid, Len was still frustrated at the enigma the Flash presented. He’d done his research: Barry Allen, adoptive son to Joe West—an unfortunately apt detective with the CCPD—who spent his days processing evidence in a lab but his nights going toe to toe with criminals and meta-humans, who could run faster than bullets but still lived at home with his father, who couldn’t keep a girlfriend but could save a million lives (if Len’s suspicions about that were correct). Barry was an odd mix of child-like naivety, fierce determination, law-abiding upbringing, and surprising willingness to throw rules and order by the wayside to accomplish his goals.

Len’s digging had looked to his past for answers and turned up more questions. Turns out the Flash had a slightly sordid childhood, a father maybe not unlike his own, locked away in Iron Heights. Then again, Barry actually visited his father, so maybe not too much commonality there. And he had been a fairly average guy until being struck by lightning. And that smarted, if he was being honest. Barry had been in a coma for nine months, and it made him cringe when he discovered that tidbit because he should have put it together so much sooner—he knew S.T.A.R. Labs’ scientists were helping the Flash. If he’d done his research right the first time, it would have been clear that this boy they hosted at their facility for months only to wake up the week the Flash arrived in Central City was obviously not just some random victim of a freak accident. But alas, that was the past, and things had worked out more than well enough since then.

His thoughts carried on that track until he arrived back at the safehouse he was sharing with Lisa and Mick. It wasn’t as cushy as Santini’s house they’d been using but it was a location that Deadline didn’t know about, so it would have to do for now.

“I'm ho-ome!” he waltzed in the door with a bit of a swagger, banishing thoughts about the Flash to focus on their Deadline issue.

“We're down here!” his sister called from somewhere in the basement of the house. He located a rickety set of stairs leading to a dimly lit unfinished space with concrete floors and exposed drywall.

“What the hell are you doing down in this dump?”

“We’re planning,” he heard Mick grunt from the corner, sitting stooped over a candle with a beer and his flame-throwing gun on the bench at his side.

“Ah huh, you’re ever the planner, Mick, very like you.” It was too warm for his jacket in the narrow space and he was starting to feel hot, something that tended to agitate him. He shrugged it off and turned to Lisa.

“Oh I’m planning, he’s just listening.”

He shared a smile with Lisa and came over to where she was crouched and packing a crate full of—

“Is that C-4?”

“Uh huh.”

“And why, exactly, do we require explosives, Lisa?”

“We’re gonna’ blow up the dock, Lenny.”

“I think you mean the pier, Sis. Because just so you know, docks are the water where you park a boat, and I hope you plan to blow up more than just water.”

Lisa gave him the same pouting glare she did whenever he corrected her about something. “Whatever, we’re going to blow it sky-high.”

“The whole pier, really? All of Royal Rock?” He laughed then actually peered into the small crate. “Though actually, you do have enough C-4 there to a take a nice little chunk of it. What’s the point of this, again?”

She smiled up at him, her pout already evaporated. As always, it was both sweet and unnerving. “How else do you plan to take out this shapeshifter guy?”

“Not a shapeshifter—a meta-human. And I plan to get the Flash to do if for us.”

Mick blew out his candle and made a show of slamming his beer down. “Then maybe we can blow him up at the same time.”

Hm. That proposition actually didn’t sit particularly well with Len, although he intuitively understood the appeal of two birds and one stone. He tilted his head to the side, “Doesn’t seem very sportsman like, Mick. We’ve got an understanding with the Flash.”

“You mean _you’ve_ got an understanding—the rest of us’ve got nothing. You won’t even give us a scrap. Spend your days stalking him and won’t even give us a name.”

Oh Mick was going to be trouble, as always. Len pulled himself up to his full height, imposing with the low ceiling and the dimness. He made sure he was facing his comrade directly, ready to launch into a verbal takedown. He opened his mouth and—

“Oh don’t mind Lenny.” Dammit Lisa. “He’s always been protective of his toys, not one for sharing. You’ve never noticed?”

Len looked over his shoulder at where she was smirking and placing a lid on the crate, purposefully not looking at him.

“Only with casing jobs and counting seconds, never seen him obsess on a person like he does with the Flash,” Mick supplied, half mutinous.

“Oh yes, Lenny is very possessive when he finds something that interests him—doesn’t matter if it’s a pretty thing or a pretty person, if he likes it then he’s got to have it.”

“Pretty person, eh? You going soft for the Flash, Snart?”

“More like hard for him.”

He shot a withering look at his sister, “Charming. I can see why Cisco was so taken with you.” He ignored her pout and turned back to Mick. “And _no_ , Mick, I’m not going to let myself get distracted or _soft_ for the kid—I’m intrigued by him. Use your imagination—what would it be like if one of us could run that fast? Anything we could want would be ours—what’s not to find alluring about that kind of power?”

Lisa mumbled “Or about that leather” just audibly and he struggled not to roll his eyes.

“Can it, Sis. If the kid’s easy on the eyes it doesn’t change the fact that he’s our biggest risk right now, so if I play my cards close the chest on this one, it’s only because I’m being careful.”

Mick grunted and picked up his gun from the bench beside him to examine it, “I thought Deadline was our biggest risk?” he asked, starting to take it apart for cleaning.

“That’s short-term, presumably. Flash is a long-term problem and a much bigger risk because of it. But speaking of Deadline, what exactly were you two planning for tonight with the C-4? Not just blowing it all sky-high and hoping for the best?”

“I was thinking we’d lure Deadline in when we’re waiting for our shipment, and then hop in the boat our stuff comes in and speed off, blowing up the dock behind us,” Lisa looked proud of the idea and he wasn’t totally against it, but she didn’t have the finesse for timing that he did, and it was far too vague. He countered with questions about what they would do if Deadline arrived early, and what if the shipment (and thus their getaway) didn’t show, and more.

They debated it back and forth after that, eventually wandering back upstairs and hashing out details for a long enough time that he became tense and stiff from leaning over notes. Contingency plans were essential though, and if they were going to change the plan at the last minute then he intended to get it right. Thankfully, C-4 was a good choice because Mick couldn’t off accidentally do something stupid and set it off, but Lisa refused to give up the detonator and it set his teeth on edge. She had a habit of making rash decisions in the heat of the moment, and Mick was way too eager to burn down the dock. As far as it went, that was all pretty much par for the course.

Mostly though, the job gave him and uneasy feeling. It was supposed to be easy, just a cargo pickup for the military-grade tech heist they would be working the next month, but there were too many variables. He wanted to time the situation down to the millisecond, a task already made impossible by the inclusion of the Flash, the issue compounded by the existence of another meta-human in the mix, and any hope of control totally destroyed by having his sister and Mick both putting their (typically bad) ideas into play.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the idea of blowing up Deadline, he thought as he leaned back in his chair to survey their (not totally satisfying) plan, although it really wasn’t his style. It was that this wasn’t going to help them acquire their shipment coming in and they didn’t really have any reason to believe it would work better than bullets and cold blasts did on Deadline. The best he could see coming of this was using the explosion as a distraction (Plan C, in case the shipment didn’t show), but if Lisa was holding the detonator, that probably wouldn’t happen. Still, his prior plan didn’t offer any added benefits, and the extra fire power was more likely to work for than against them, so he’d live with it for now.

When his eyes started to cross from staring at the map of the docks and the timing notes for too long, he figured it wasn’t going to get much better before the evening. “We have it down. Go over it one more time; I’ll be upstairs in the shower. Just try not to blow anything up while I’m gone.” He hopped up the stairs to the small bathroom before they could argue.

A shower was just what he needed. Water rippled down his back and shoulders and he was able to let go of some of the tension he was holding. If they were lucky, it would all go according to the plan. If not, the Flash would be there to at least present a distraction to Deadline, and at best might take care of the mercenary altogether. It wouldn’t do to rely on the kid, and they weren’t, but it might be turn out to be an interesting night.

And speaking of interesting, his thoughts turned back to contemplating Barry Allen in light of his sister’s comments. Sure, Lisa might tease him about his possessive nature, not to mention the leather, but Len was _fascinated_ by the Flash, and far more interested in seeing Barry out of the suit than in it, as he had this morning behind Jitters. It wasn’t even just the glimpse of those toned thighs and tight briefs stretched over a firm ass that got him going; it was as much the flush that crept up Barry’s cheeks as he tried to pretend he wasn’t bothered by being watched while changing, and Len hadn’t felt the need to look away.

The shower was steaming up around him so he sighed and reached down to take himself in hand. If he was going to let go of some tension, he might as well do it properly, and he’d got himself off to thinking of stranger things than a handsome young man with an angelic face and thighs to kill for. And it was more than just how pretty Barry was, although he was that. It was the power coursing through the other man, strength hidden by cheeky smiles and layers of shirts and sweaters, thrumming electricity concealed in veins. Invading his space that morning, Len could practically feel it radiating off of him the closer they stood, whiplash potential of power held in check. Seeing Barry frustrated, angry, determined, _challenging_ , it was exhilarating.

It made him want to press harder, further into the smaller man’s space, push his buttons until he snapped or came apart at those vibrating seams, just see what would happen, what he would do. Thinking about the raw energy of the other man, the charged air between them in their last few interactions, had Len’s hand picking up speed, his breathing following. He wanted to hold that power in his hands and play it like a fiddle, controlled and patient. He wanted to see what Barry Allen would look like come undone, with fury or with passion. He found that he wanted to see what that beautiful body would look like under Len, moaning, begging, on the edge of ecstasy while he took his time, pushing Barry to edges he didn’t know he had.

God, he could suddenly picture it, visions of Barry under him, opening for him; visions of Barry’s pretty pink lips swollen and sucking on his cock, of Barry bright-eyed and determined to swallow each inch to the base. Len groaned at the thought, his hand speeding now as he got close to orgasm, hips giving little thrusts in time with the movements of his wrist. He closed his eyes and pictured Barry moaning around his cock, hands in that messy brown hair, and his orgasm overtook him, pulsing out onto the shower wall.

He shuddered out his aftershocks and then washed up, both somewhat and not at all surprised at the direction his thoughts had taken. At least he was relaxed now, and once again alert to prepare for the evening ahead. And if Lisa had had a point about the nature of his obsession with the Flash, well, he didn’t really need mention it and give her those gloating rights. After all, there was more important work to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my.
> 
> I originally planned for this chapter to include the altercation with Deadline at the dock, but it became long enough to be it's own chapter so I went for it, ending the chapter on a slightly higher note ;) Next chapter will be full of action though, and it'll probably be a few days before it's posted.
> 
> Also, I'm tampering with the notion of starting the next chapter _in media res_ (i.e., in the middle of the action) vs. showcasing some of Barry's day leading up to the fight. If you have any preference, feel free to mention it in the comments! Can't say for sure if I'll go with what people suggest, but I always welcome feedback.  
>   
> 
> PS - if you notice that STAR labs is both S.T.A.R. and STAR--it's a matter of perspective. Leonard is more particular than Barry and has less familiarity with it, so he thinks of it as an acronym, whereas Barry thinks of it as a (capitalized) word/name.
> 
> PPS - Sorry if I missed any grammar/spelling stuff, I think I caught most of them on my final read-through but some may have slipped though.


	4. My perfect date: a long walk on the pier and dodging explosives in the evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up—unfortunately, in a rather explosive manner. No one really predicted that it was Deadline who was going to be blowing things up though.

“GET BACK!”

A _hissss_ followed by whhhh— _BOOMMMMM!!!_ —and a deafening roar. The blast launched Barry three feet in the air—he was lucky he stayed mostly ahead of it at all—and he thudded down on his right side and skidded another two feet after that, buffeted by unapologetic ground. He groaned and then saw another of Deadline’s little exploding pellets headed straight at him, and missed it by a half second, speeding away just as it combusted in a miniature explosion behind him. This time, the ground didn’t explode under it, so, small favours and everything.

He didn’t make it far though, discovering the blast had done more damage to his side than he’d realized, right ankle twisting, leg giving out under him. He swore and forced himself up again, zoomed painfully a few more meters before crying out as he all but threw himself behind a stack of crates, next to Captain Cold.

“Ahhgg—what in the _hell_ is going on, Snart?!” he shouted over the ringing in his ears. Cold ignored him and leaned up over the crates to get a shot in with the cold gun, aimed at Deadline. The hitman had been heading after Mick Rory last he’d checked, and he could hear the unmistakable blazing sound of Rory’s heat gun and even feel the heat from flame to his left. Snart took a shot before dropping down beside him, pulling his goggles off his eyes to look at Barry.

“I _said_ —”

“I heard you the first time, Scarlet. We didn’t anticipate Deadline works with explosives.”

“So he rigged this whole place to—”

“ _No_ , we did that. We were ready to control the detonation though,” Snart righted his goggles over his eyes to look back into the flame and mess behind them, and got in another shot while Barry yelled, “ARE YOU INSANE?” only to be ignored. He struggled into a position that allowed him to look around the crates. The pier was mostly empty aside from the blaze, devoid of innocent bystanders this late at night. To the west was water swirling around wharfs jutting out, a maze criss-crossed with docked boats. In that direction and south were Deadline and Rory, facing off as Deadline had tried to stall the arsonist’s retreat, and east was the rest of the city.

Snart dropped back at his side. “Mick’s got him distracted for now. How’s the leg?”

Barry tested vibrating each of his limbs. His whole right side hurt, but his leg was worse than that even. He’d been almost directly under the blast, which wouldn’t have been an issue except that there was _more than one blast_ —the exploding pellets being launched by the dematerializing meta-human, and then whatever had blown up the ground of the pier beneath him. Dammit, Snart.

“It’s not great. I can run but I won’t be able to carry any weight, and probably not for long.”

“Good enough—we might want to move. The whole south end of the pier is lined with C-4; there’s some right under us, all the way to where our boat is docked.”

They really were insane. He heard Cisco whistle in his ear. “Barry, that is not good. Deadline’s exploding pellets are releasing enough of an electric charge to set off the detonators.”

“Kinda figured that out, Cisco. What do we do about it?”

He heard Dr. Wells’ voice in his ear and winced at it involuntarily, “You get his DNA and get out of there, or you get his explosive pellets before he can set off any more of the C-4.”

Barry sighed and scrunched his eyes, trying to figure out what to do. From what he could see, looking up and around the crates, Deadline had vanished through a wall, Rory had lit a good chunk of the south end of the pier on fire behind him as he retreated, and Lisa was on a boat at the end of the wharf they were on when he got there, yelling for Rory to follow.

“How do I do that if he can dematerialize?” he directed it at Dr. Wells, because even if he didn’t trust him, he was good at sorting through this type of chaotic disorder.

“You’ll have to be fast, and he’ll have to be distracted, enough to stay solid while you grab him.”

“We already tried that!” And they had—Barry had showed up to the party late, which is to say, he had made sure to be at the pier five minutes to eleven (more than enough time for him to case the place) only to find chaos already in progress. He’d had seconds to assess the situation—Cold and Rory taking point on the man who must be Deadline, Lisa Snart pointing her gun at a very confused and nervous boat captain, who was more than happy to turn around if it meant getting away from the situation at the pier.

Things went from appalling to awful shortly after. Deadline was laughing, immaterialized and immune to the blasts of their guns. It was clear that in that state, his clothes and weapons were similarly immaterial and he couldn’t get in a shot, so laughing or not, he was on the defense. Barry couldn’t get at him unless he materialized and wasn't in the line of fire, and took the chance when Deadline walked through a wall for some cover. He'd whipped around the wall and he went right through the other man, who grinned and welcomed him to the party with a set of explosives launched right at him, ones that had him speeding back around the building to meet up with Snart and Rory. Deadline made it to the roof seconds later, launching more of those pellets down at them while they quickly hashed out a plan. Thankfully, Rory decided to burn them up in midair, grinning like a madman and goading Deadline.

In the heat of the moment, he’d yelled to Snart (and Cisco on the other end of his comm) “This isn’t working, you need to get a shot in while I distract him!” and taken off like a bullet, jumping into the air to catch some of Deadline’s pellets—narrowly dodging the flame from Rory—and throwing them back at the man in what would seem like an instant to the other, making himself a target of his wrath in the process.

Deadline phased through the roof and then through the wall to avoid Snart and Rory, aiming right for Barry with his exploding pellets, which was just enough time for Snart to get in a shot with the cold gun. Mick Rory shot at the same time, his gun hitting air a second later as Deadline immaterialized, his armor absorbing most of the cold blast before he became intangible. At the same moment, Barry made a run at him, turning in midair at the last second to avoid the combined blaze of Rory’s fire and Snart’s ice. He zipped right through Deadline again, landing onto a pile of explosives Deadline had dropped before de-materializing. He looked down and his heart skipped a beat, sped up as he jumped up and away from the explosives.

Out of the corner of his eye, Barry had seen Snart throwing himself behind a stack of crates to avoid a stray pellet coming his way, seen Deadline heading in the direction of Lisa, Rory moving to cut him off. That was when he heard Snart yelling to get back, the split second of distraction meant he almost missed that Deadline’s mini explosives weren’t the only thing suddenly erupting—the wooden boards of the pier started to burst up and open under his feet, combusting as he ran just ahead of what was apparently C-4 exploding directly under him, only his speed keeping him from being turned into pink mist.

Wells’ voice snapped him back to the present moment, “I know, Barry, but this time, you know what you’re up against. Get Cold to draw his fire this time while you get in there, get his DNA, and if you can, his explosives, so he can’t use them to detonate anything else.”

He heaved a sigh and turned to Snart. Things were quieting down behind them, meaning Rory and Lisa were probably at the boat, and Deadline was probably trying to find a good angle to close in on them.

“I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh _good_ , Flash, because I was rather thinking I’ve got a boat to catch.”

“It involves you.”

“I’m already not a fan of this plan.”

Barry looked around the crate in the direction of Lisa and Rory. Deadline was headed straight for them, and— _BOOOOMMMM_!!! He covered his ears and head while Cold did the same.

“I think your sister just blew up the wharf that was your escape plan.”

They could hear a motor, most likely Lisa and Rory getting the hell out there.

“So what did you have in mind?” Snart was standing again, sending a cold blast in the direction of Deadline coming back toward them. He seemed cool and calm despite the explosions, fires, and the incoming sound of sirens reaching their ears. Barry wondered just how much C-4 they had to worry about, and was about to ask when Cisco said he’d make an anonymous tip to the authorities to get the bomb squad on hand.

“You need to draw his fire, get him shooting at you—make him think he has a chance of finishing this before the cops arrive. If you do that, I’ll be able to get his DNA, or at least those exploding mini-bombs.”

He heard Caitlin through his communicator: “Even just some hair, Barry—anything that we can analyze.”

Cold was looking at him through those ridiculous goggles of his, still dressed in a parka despite the flames around them. “You really know how to push your luck, kid.”

Barry didn’t have time to argue but it turned out he didn’t have to, in the next breath, Cold jumped up and over the crates and jeered, “Hey Deadline—you might think you’re hot stuff, but didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s better to play it cool?”

Barry didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe at the Captain Cold caricature that Leonard adopted so comfortably.

“They didn’t have to, Leonard Snart. All I had to learn was how to take care of messes long overdue.”

Okay, Barry was just gonna’ have to end this little event for the sake of stopping the bad jokes, if nothing else. Maybe there was a criminal code that required awful puns—if so, he was probably lucky that Cisco had never gotten wind of it, or he’d have instantly signed up.

He stood up shaky on his right leg. It hurt (so did the rest of him), but it would do. Snart was drawing Deadline further and further back, away from the water, but also toward the sirens, which were now almost dangerously close. Explosives were going off, countering cold blasts. Time to get this done, and fast.

Barry sped out from behind the crates, made it 30 paces, and screeched to a halt, shouting in pain.

“Barry?!” That was Caitlin _and_ Cisco this time.

“My leg…”

“You can do this, Barry,” and that was Wells, as always, ready to push him. But from the corner of his eye he could see Snart, still drawing fire in his direction, and he could hear cops and firefighters starting to shout as they approached the pier. He grit his teeth and _ran_ , a red blur of lightning and pain, speeding 20, 30, 50 feet, zooming past Deadline and grabbing a fistful of his hair on the way. As soon as he did he could feel the space where his hand would have been grabbing a head vanish, immaterial, but it didn’t matter—he had strands of hair in his grip and that was all he needed. Without thinking, he kept running, momentum carrying him, catching up to an explosive pellet that was aimed at Leonard’s head, about to catch him in the face (and take it off). Barry could see his eyes slowly widening as time was dilated around him, and he grabbed the other man up in his arms as he ran past, not stopping for a second. He whipped up the stairs of the pier, away from the police, around a corner, passed the frightened bystanders trying to get a look at Royal Rock going up in flames, around the surrounding traffic, down a block, and then—

“ _AAAHHGGGG_!!!”

He tripped out of his run, screaming at the pain his leg and side, dropping Leonard, tripping _over_ Leonard, onto the ground on his front, skidding a few more feet besides. He groaned and rolled onto his back, hands clutched his ankle and leg, Cisco and Caitlin yelling in his ear demanding what happened.

“God _dammmmmit_. My leg, it’s hurt. I don’t think I can run any further right now.”

“Barry, just stay where you are, we’ll come and get you,” Caitlin’s voice crackled in his ear.

He heard police sirens coming down the same street they were on, headed to the dock, and Leonard groaned beside him. “I don’t think that’s gonna’ work, Caitlin!”

He watched Leonard roll onto his front and get up on his knees. “Scarlet, we gotta’ get out of here.”

“Yeah, I got that, Snart. Not going very far like this though,” he motioned to his leg, wishing he could run his hands through his hair but not ready to take his cowl off to do it.

Leonard looked at him like he was seeing him for the first time, pulling off those goggles and pushing back his hood. His face was grim, which made Barry wonder how bad he looked.

“Right, new plan.”

Barry was apprehensive as the other man quickly stood and marched the few feet to him, wondering if he was going to have to fight off Cold next. Snart raised the cold gun and Barry cringed, only to breath a sigh of relief as it was stowed under the parka and out of sight. A second later, Leonard had leaned down with his back facing away from a confused Barry.

“Get on,” he said.

“You want me to—you want to give me a piggyback?”

“Got a better idea, Flash? You do realize cops are cordoning off this entire neighborhood right now, don’t you?”

Right. Whew, right. Okay, Barry thought, this wasn’t that weird. Just the Flash getting a piggyback from Captain Cold, nothing to see here. He tried not to groan as he shifted his weight and rolled forward, half climbing and then being hoisted onto Leonard’s back. He felt strong arms loop under his thighs and pull him in, snug onto a comfy cushion of parka. At least it was good for something.

“You’re really not as light as you seem, kid.”

Barry was about to argue but the man took off a jog, weaving into an alleyway almost immediately; he had to clutch his arms around Snart’s shoulders just so he wouldn’t get dislodged. His right leg burned, radiating up from his ankle and calf to the muscles of his thigh, held up by Leonard, but he closed his eyes against the pain. Cisco’s voice in his ear was a helpful distraction,

“Barry, man, your GPS says you’re moving now, what’s going on?”

He took one arm off Snart to cup his ear and respond to Cisco. “Hey Cisco—I’m uh—I hitched a ride,” he heard Leonard snort, “And this neighborhood is crawling with cops and fire rescue and emergency responders, so you guys should just stay tight, okay? I can’t run right now and I don’t think I'm gonna’ make it back to STAR Labs tonight.”

“Take a cab, Barry!” Wells’ voice yelled in his ear.

Yeah right, he thought. He’d had about enough of Wells giving him orders for one night. “Actually, Dr. Wells, I think I’m gonna’ just head home for tonight. I’ll drop by the lab tomorrow morning with the hair sample. You can all go home, I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.”

He heard them all shout a protest in his ear and he shut off his communicator, flicked off the GPS, and linked his arm back around Leonard, who was turning into a new alleyway.

“Trouble in paradise?” the man huffed, only slightly out of breath from carrying Barry.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he returned, hooking his chin over the other’s shoulder. Leonard smelled like a combination of gunpowder, smoke, and—if he had to put a word to it—Winter. He put aside that thought, figured he probably should call a cab, get home, but he was feeling mutinous and frustrated, a sensation not at all lessened by each jostle that sent more pain down his side.

They slowed to a walk for the last five minutes, weaving a pattern in shadows and alleys to avoid detection. Barry’s thoughts drifted back to STAR Labs, to his friends and what they might make of Deadline, to Joe and what he was going to say to him about the pier and the mess he’d made of things. Then abruptly they stopped before a doorway in what appeared to be an old walk-up apartment building in desperate need of repair. Leonard set him down with surprising grace before fishing out a key from behind a brick and letting them in.

Barry was about to (attempt to) step inside when Leonard reached under his arm, forcing Barry to wrap it around his shoulder. The man’s hand settled onto his left side, stretched across his back, providing support, both physically and, through the contact, mentally, somehow helping to bring Barry’s scattered thoughts about Wells and Joe and STAR Labs back to Earth.

They hobbled up a dark set of stairs into a small, dingy, bachelor-style apartment with only the occasional hiss of pain from Barry. Neither said anything in the stairwell, and now that Barry’s thoughts were back in the here and now, and with the noise of the streets and the adrenaline wearing off. Where were they, and seriously, what was he doing here? He and Cold weren’t friends, and could just as easily have parted ways blocks ago.

Barry opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but then they were in the apartment and Snart was maneuvering him over to the small single bed in the corner of the room. He was dropped unceremoniously onto it. Pain lanced up his side at the rough movement and he hissed, leg bending up so he could clutch his shin, which really wasn't helping. “Ahg, come on, man! I’m injured.”

He looked up Snart who was doffing his parka, goggles out of sight. Barry could see beads of sweat sliding down the man’s neck, cold gun hooked into a unique holster on his hip. He glanced back at Barry, expression impassive. “Undress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hoho, things are _heating_ up, eh? Though even Barry is getting tired of my puns... 
> 
> This was challenging--fight scenes require a lot of coordination, and attention to the surrounding environment and what other people are doing. There are so many variables in any Flash fight, including the STAR Labs crew, the police, Barry, the other meta-human, and in this case the Rogues. What a mess; if there's any continuity errors, consider this an apology.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, I love that Barry's actually a quite reckless person, because it means that it's not too much of a stretch for him to get himself into ridiculous situations like this. His emotions definitely guide his actions. Also, this is officially diverging from canon because there won't be any mention of Trickster, Barry learning how to phase, or (SPOILER ALERT) Eddie knowing Barry's secret. I might work in some more elements of canon as it goes on, but we're trekking into some fun unknown territory!
> 
> Finally, if I can wrangle it, the next chapter will have some art in it! Fingers crossed that I can get it sorted out.


	5. Love what you've done with the place.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len appraises, Barry is apprehensive, and things get more intimate than either really expected.

Barry blinked up at him, obviously confused. Len could tell the exact moment his brain caught up because he started spluttering and looking anywhere but at Len. He tried to keep his expression neutral but damn the kid was adorable.

“Why the Hell would I—I mean what are you—”

“As much fun as it might be to see how deep the choirboy act goes, Flash,” oh and didn’t he go a nice shade of indignant, “you’re injured and someone should look at it.”

Barry opened his mouth, shut it. Still not with the undressing. Len frowned and took a step in his direction.

“Why should I trust you, Cold? Why are you even helping me?”

The kid still had his cowl on, the whole gimmick really, and maybe it was like some last form of defense to him. To Len though, the question of trust was moot in this case—if he’d been worried about that, he never should have let Len carry him to a mysterious location, all but nuzzling his freaking neck on the walk over. And though Barry might just look beautiful writhing under a controlled delivery of pain, Len didn’t typically get off that much on hurting others, it was mostly just a means to an end for him. Explaining the workings of his mind didn’t really appeal to him though, so he provided the simplest answer.

“Quid pro quo, kid. We blew you up and you saved me from getting my face blown in, so I carted you back here and now I’ll patch you up. Simple.”

It really was, though maybe Barry would be more inclined to agree if he could actually see himself right now. He probably didn’t realize how shitty he looked—cuts, burns, bloody, his nice red suit likely destroyed beyond repair. Whole chunks of it were missing, in particular the right calf and thigh were completely destroyed, exposed skin marred mostly by an unpleasant and bloody burn, hard to tell how deep it went. The torso wasn’t much of an improvement, singes and char marks along it from dodging Mick’s gun—likely the back too, where explosions had caught him—and the arms each had a cut or two, a bit of blood and burn. If his obstinate expression was any indication, Barry probably didn’t even know that there was blood matted to the side of his face, coming from somewhere under that cowl.

"Look, Flash, you can take that ridiculous red jumpsuit off and let me look at you, or you can explain to your little pals at S.T.A.R. Labs that the reason you ended up in the hospital with an infected leg that needs to be amputated is because you didn't want to play doctor with me. It's all the same to me--" he rolled his head toward the grimy window where red and blue lights indicated the passing of a police patrol, "—I'm stuck here for an hour or two anyway."

Barry scowled but reached up to lower his hood. Good enough. Len turned away and into the small bathroom, run down like the rest of this safe house, and fished out a first aid kit and some painkillers. He dropped them onto the bed next to the brunet, who was still only just peeling his first arm out of its sleeve, and continued on his way to the kitchenette. The apartment was tiny, so it was really only the space of a few steps for him to cross it. There was an open space that served as living room, dining room, and bedroom all at once, filled with a table and two chairs--rickety as fuck--a moth-eaten recliner, the twin bed, and the kitchenette, so small it didn't even have an oven. Mostly, it was a place to lie low for a day to a week when needed, normally meant for a single occupant.

"You know," Barry called behind him, "They wouldn't need to amputate my leg anyway."

He paused to ponder, hands still rifling through the cupboards to find where the alcohol was stashed. "Burns get infected fast, kid, I wouldn't underestimate it."

"No I mean--I heal. Fast. Or..." Len peered over in Barry's direction, where he was slowly shimmying his burnt leg out of the red leather, trying not to wince too much. "...faster than normal people. It's a metabolism thing, it's all fast. I'll be good as new in a few hours."

He arched an eyebrow and let out a low whistle, "You, Barry Allen, are full of surprises." This explained his resistance to the cold gun; Len had mostly figured it was the suit, but maybe not so much. That could make things... interesting. He stowed the knowledge and had a sudden thought, grabbed a box of crackers and carried it across the room with the bottle of vodka he'd found. He dropped it next to the mostly naked man on his way back, stalking past him to place the vodka on the side table. "But, unless you want asphalt to become a permanent part of your leg, you might want to clean it out."

He stood a few paces from Barry, who had his legs extended down the length of the bed. He was leaning forward and grimacing at his burnt calf, but if Len had to put money on it, he would guess it really _was_ already starting to heal. He took a moment to take in the sight, the first time he had really had a chance to see the Flash vulnerable since their encounter on the train, not to mention it was his first time seeing the other without his guard up, period. It was illuminating to really see him, both as the Flash and as Barry Allen. He was pale, with smooth skin, hard muscles, long and lean, stretched now, clad only in grey boxer briefs that looked as though they'd missed most of the burning (small favours). His eyes skipped over Barry's wounded leg, favoring instead his shoulders, his clavicles, long neck, messy brown hair. He had thankfully few bruises and scrapes aside from his leg, but as he watched, he could see Barry starting to tense, noticing the attention. His greyish eyes looked up, apprehensive, and the blood on his face reminded Len about why he was really here. He reached for the vodka and offered it to Barry. "You'll want a swig of this before I get to work with it."

Barry looked a bit green around the gills, not that the red stain on his face was helping, and gestured at the bottle. "Doesn't work on me anyway--the metabolism thing."

Ah. Well, that was unfortunate. "Right then," he took a swig himself because someone ought to, and then took a stride toward the bed, kneeling onto it. Without much ado, he proceeded to upend the contents over the brunet's burnt up leg. The next few seconds happened very fast. Barry started to unleash a scream--that was sure to catch someone's attention through the thin walls here--and Len surged forward to slam his hand over's Barry's mouth. In the same instant, Barry was heaving upward to grab his leg; Len dropped the bottle and latched onto the slender wrist before it could clench into his leg and do more damage, pushing it back at the same time as his hand on the other's mouth slammed him back, fixing Barry down on the mattress, wrist pressed down beside his head. The force of his momentum into Barry carried Len half over top of the other man, hands pushing him down into the bed, where he lay, struggling and yelling ineffectually into Len's hand. Len tightened his grip, pressing down against Barry's mouth and pushing his wrist harder into the soft give of the mattress, breathing heavy and waiting the few seconds it took for him to calm down. As he did, Len leaned in down into his space, gazes locked.

"Don't _ever_ do that again, Flash."

Barry breathed out heavy through his nose, eyes wide, glaring at Len. It made him want to grin, made him want to push harder. But the kid was hurt and tired, and it wouldn't exactly be a fair fight, so after a brief second of tightening his grip, he loosened up and dropped his hands on either side of the other's head. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you, Snart?" Barry hissed at him. At least it was quiet. But he was shaking just a bit, maybe from contained anger, maybe fear, maybe just bone-deep exhaustion.

"My problem, Allen, is that you're going to wake the whole goddamn neighborhood and bring the police right down on us. In case you didn't notice, they're out there canvassing right now." He knew their patterns, and they would need to be patrolling the whole area, seeing if any witnesses in the area saw anything important. "Thirty feet below us, outside that window, and you're not exactly keeping your cool."

He felt more than saw Barry uncoil some of that tension, something that made him notice how close he was to the other, half-draped over the speedster's lean frame, arms on either side of his head and shoulders, faces only inches apart. He could smell the electric (and burnt) scent of Barry’s skin, count the eyelashes surrounding the other's warm, watery eyes, if he was so inclined, and he actually could feel smooth skin, the muscles in his arm and chest from where their bodies were touching. Playing doctor, indeed. He leaned back out of Barry's space, coming to sit with his legs over the side of the bed, back to Barry, and didn't miss the other exhale heavily when he did.

"You could have warned me before you did that, you know." Barry hadn't moved.

Len rolled his shoulders then turned back to reach over the other man for the vodka, empty enough it had barely spilled. He ignored Barry tensing and raised the bottle again to his lips to swallow a generous portion of the clear liquid. It burnt in a most pleasant way, and was taking some of the ache out of his own bruises and ails. He dropped it back on the mattress after screwing on the lid, turning a condescending eye on Barry. "Didn't take you for a screamer." Barry grimaced, but mostly just looked like he was in pain. That was less fun, so Len turned back around to survey the leg, getting tweezers from the first aid kit to pull out any foreign bits of dirt or gravel he saw. Barry mostly hissed and stayed quiet this time, and it was surprisingly quick work, the gash smaller than he had thought.

"Your metabolism mean painkillers are a no-go, I assume?" Len asked when he was done.

He tilted his head and watched the other lean up and forward on his elbows. It forced Barry's clavicles to jut and Len's eyes watched his smooth chest expand as he inhaled. "No, nothing works... ice would probably help my ankle though. It's sprained or broken, not sure which."

"Ice, coming right up," he was more than happy to oblige that request, pushing back and standing to grab his cold gun from the table. He turned to find something to shoot and break icicles off of, only to notice Barry's scandalized expression. " _Chill_ , kid, I'm not going to shoot your leg." Tempting, but not today. Not that he minded how easily he could alarm the other, but from what he knew about Barry, that was most likely because he couldn't do much on a broken ankle right now, not because the kid knew how to turn down a fight, no matter what state he was in.

Len snorted and took aim at the table, freezing it enough to snap some icicles off before heading to back to the bathroom to find something to wrap it up.

 

**********

 

Barry collapsed back onto the bed while Snart left the room. What the hell was he doing? He was exhausted, in pain, and almost naked in some rusty safe house that belonged to Captain Cold, who kept making inappropriate jokes and wasn't going anywhere for a few hours. Why hadn't he gone back to STAR Labs, again? Dr. Wells? Though now that he thought about it, maybe this actually was a small price to pay for avoiding Wells for another evening. He groaned and pressed his palms to his eyes, so done with this evening. His right hand felt something wet and crusty, and he pulled it away to see blood on his hand. Fantastic.

"You know," Snart was leaning in the doorway to the small bathroom. It seemed like everything he did was at least halfway smug. "Every second you spend here, I think you get more tense, not less. Sure you don't want a drink?"

He had to rub it in, right? He scowled at the other man and didn't bother responding, just moved to a more upright position as Snart neared the bed and dropped beside him again, jostling everything. Barry found that hurt less now though, the jostling, so that was a good sign he hoped. The ice pack being placed--surprisingly gently--on his ankle was a cold shock, but it was probably necessary. He leaned forward and pressed his own hand to it while Snart removed his. After a second, he felt the other man’s icy blue eyes taking him in again. It made him feel exposed, like Snart was taking inventory of his body, so he tersely demanded, "What?"

"Just noticing...you do heal rather fast. Your smaller cuts are already closed." He peered down at Barry's ankle. "It works on fractures, too?"

"Everything.”

Snart nodded, and then reached for a cloth he'd dropped on the side table. Barry flinched as Snart brought it toward his face but it slowed to a halt before making contact, the other man giving him what was probably supposed to be a long-suffering look, like Barry was some stubborn child. He huffed and closed his eyes, and then felt a hand--no wash cloth--slowly push his hair away from his face. He shivered as a hand carded into his matted hair, and only then did he feel the warm--and it was warm, must have been run under hot water--cloth press to the side of his head. He couldn't feel a wound anymore, but let the other man clean off whatever blood was left, stroking the cloth against his head, hair, cheek. He tried to focus on his breathing, and not the feel of the other man's hands moving his head to tilt it just so. With his eyes closed, Barry’s other senses kicked in stronger, smelling the blood, the winter smell of Snart underneath the gunpowder, the dust in the apartment. Anything to distract himself from the surprisingly gentle, if cool hands on his skin. He shivered again, and then the hands retreated.

Barry opened his eyes in time to catch Snart looking like he wanted to say something and then not. Barry tried to convince himself he didn't care. He felt too exposed though, with Snart just looking at him, felt naked--was mostly naked--and becoming increasingly aware of that fact, as well as how exhausted he was starting to feel now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

"What about you?" he said to break the silence. "Any cuts or scrapes from the pier?"

Good, that got the focus off of him for a second. Snart visibly did a self-assess, stretched this way and that, and when he lifted his left arm he hissed and his right reached over to hold his ribs. He stretched his neck to the side and responded, "Some bruised ribs, maybe a crack. Nothing particularly special."

Barry's fingers reached forward before he hesitated. "I could take a look, make sure nothing's broken? Quid pro quo and all that?" He wasn't sure what possessed him to offer, except that misery loves company and it gave him something to do beyond sitting in his underwear waiting for his ankle to heal and the police to move on from this neighbourhood.

Leonard eyed him for a minute, speculative, before he dropped a "Sure, kid" and stood up. He slowly pulled his shirt overhead, clearly being gentle with his left side, pulling that arm out of its sleeve first and then pulling off the rest of the shirt from there. Incidentally, it gave Barry an in-depth view of his long back, with muscles that were defined and far more pronounced than Barry's own, looking more like Oliver Queen's, if he had to make a comparison. He had a few scars lining his back, and a bruise blossoming out from his left side, but the speedster’s eyes drank it in, over the smooth planes, the arms extended high, their own muscles suddenly on display, the curve of his neck. In the dim lighting, with his back turned and no threat on his lips, there was something about Leonard that was absolutely, breathtakingly gorgeous.

 

 

 

 

Barry was not prepared for that thought. He snapped his eyes away.

Leonard turned back around as he tried to get his thoughts in order, but he made the mistake of looking up at the other man, who arched an eyebrow and had some kind of mischievous expression that made Barry feel like he could read his thoughts. Leonard didn't say anything though, just stepped forward placed one knee on the bed next to Barry. "Well?"

Oh right, he was actually supposed to be touching those ribs now. Which would be fine if he hadn't just been thinking about Snart as beautiful, which in all truth was a very inconvenient thought, more inconvenient than the time he had caught himself thinking that Oliver had lovely eyes. And he had just compared these two men, their muscles, and he was very aware of the crush he'd had on the Arrow before meeting him, and that was an odd thing to remember at this time, and--Nope. Not happening. His mind was firmly, decidedly, not having a minor internal panic attack, and not thinking those thoughts. Instead, he ignored everything he’d thought within the last minute. Focus, Barry. He breathed in deep and then reached up to gently press along each of Leonard's twelve left ribs. He did each one gently in turn, trying to be thorough, reaching his hand toward the side to test the smaller lower ribs, and then up to each of the others, pressing firm enough to detect any extra movement, mindful of every time Leonard winced. Mostly, he tried not to be distracted by the taught stomach and abdominal muscles that were stretched in front of his face, far too close as he leaned toward the other man to reach each rib. After his assessment, he snatched his hand back and forewent any mental comparisons of his abs to Oliver's, thinking instead that although Leonard's hands were cold, the rest of him was perfectly warm.

"I don’t think anything’s seriously broken, though you can't rule out minor cracks and fractures, and they’re definitely bruised. You should probably wrap them though, or at least ice them, to be on the safe side. Oh, and stop twisting to reach things, you’re just gonna’ hurt yourself.”

“Thanks, doc.”

He was being sardonic, but Barry actually knew a lot about broken and bruised ribs—both from first aid courses required to work for the CCPD and his own first hand experience. He sort of figured that was the end of that--his own leg was a lot better already, ankle swelling down from the ice, burn about half the size it had been when they got there. But Leonard leaned right over him suddenly, perpendicular to and straight across him, forcing Barry to lean back and stare at the other’s side as he reached for—ah, the first aid kit. Then he leaned back onto his knees, both of which here now planted on the bed, and held out a tensor bandage to Barry.

“Since you’re offering,” somehow he made it sound like a challenge. Barry wasn’t sure when and how he’d signed up for this, but he might as well. So he turned himself to face Leonard fully, crossing his left leg in front of him and stretching out his right to dangle off the side of the bed.

Then he focused on bandaging Leonard’s ribs as best as he could, not letting his fingers linger over the warm skin but not using any speed that might jar the man. His hands wrapped the bandage around the man’s torso, starting from his left rib and pulling it round, meaning he was halfway hugging Leonard when the bandage looped around back, and his hands where skimming the other’s chest and abdomen on their way around front. Thankfully, there was only a few loops to do and he could focus his attention on the green bruises forming, checking that there was no there was black bruising to indicate internal bleeding, rather than on the warm muscles beneath his hands. As he worked, he couldn’t help but sneak glances up at Snart from time to time, in between nudging his arms out of the way and prodding the man to move so he could access his side or back or front to bandage him up. To his credit, Snart didn’t complain or comment on this, but he did spend the entire time staring down at Barry. It made him swallow whenever he accidentally caught the other’s eye.

A few tense minutes later, he was finally able to say “all done” and lean back on his hands to survey his work.

The other’s half-smile was only half teasing when he looked down and said, “Thank you, Barry.”

Barry would take what he could get, so he smiled back up at Leonard, who hadn’t moved, glad they’d sorted it out. His own ankle was numb from the ice and his leg was steadily improving, but he looked down at it and suddenly felt awkward in noticing their position. He was in his underwear, legs halfway framing Leonard, right one stretched along the other man’s side to dangle off the side of the bed, left folded in front of himself. Leonard was half undressed, sitting back on his knees, and seemed content to stay there. The polite thing to do would be for Leonard to lean back, stand up, give Barry some space. Instead, he stayed put, and arched an eyebrow as if to say “what now?”

Barry was tempted to further lean back, out of the other’s space, but he could perceive the challenge in Leonard's gaze, and didn’t want to extend himself back into an even more vulnerable position. Sure Snart was playing nice now, but Barry didn't need to give him an edge. He settled instead for running a hand through his hair and clearing his throat. “So, uhh… this,” he looked around, “apartment? Seems kind of…bare?” Great word choice, Allen. Stellar.

If anything, Leonard only looked amused. “I only use it as a safe house for a day or two when I need to lie low, away from the heat.”

Barry snorted, “Let me guess: until things cool down?”

“You catch on quick,” Leonard smirked and Barry almost groaned at how ridiculous the other man was, but then Leonard suddenly reached forward, into his space. He tensed up, for a crazy moment thinking that he was about to be kissed, but Leonard dodged right at the last second and brushed past Barry. A tense second later, he drew back with the bottle of vodka in hand. They had been close enough for Barry to feel his heartbeat through his chest, skin on skin for half a second. And it had forced Barry back onto his elbows to duck out of the way anyway, meaning he was looking up at Snart even more so than before. He was pretty sure that had been the goal, but he couldn't figure out what kind of game they were playing. He knew that it was some sort of crazy power trip—he knew a fight when he saw one, whatever form it took.

Actually, he could only assume that if there was some point to this tense flirtation Snart was playing, then it was doubtless to get under his skin and unnerve him. They were closer to now than they’d been, Leonard on his knees, smirking, his eyes fixed on Barry’s. He watched Leonard bring the vodka to his lips and suck back a healthy amount, enough for a single drop at the corner of his mouth to leak out. There was no way it was an accident; Barry’s eyes tracked it as it slid down his chin, then his eyes stilled on Leonard’s throat contracting as he swallowed. Everything suddenly felt too hot and he had to look away.

“What are you doing, Snart?” his voice was more hoarse than he would have liked, but he wasn’t one to shy away from a fight. If Leonard was going to keep pushing, he was going to at least push back and call him on his shit.

The other leaned away to drop the bottle on the side table while he replied, “Isn’t it obvious, Barry?”

Well, at least that was some acknowledgment that Snart had been flirting with him-- _was_ flirting with him.

“Okay, _why_ are you doing this?”

Len turned back to face him full on, his patented smirk taking on a Cheshire quality, “Isn’t... it... obvious, Barry?” He punctuated each word with a pause, eyes intense, amsused.

He was starting to get annoyed. “Not really, _Leonard_ "--since apparently they were on a first-name basis--"Whatever weird game you’re playing, knock it off.”

“And if it isn’t a game?” The air took on a charged quality around them. “Don’t tell me the rush of a good fight doesn’t get you going, Barry. I’ve seen you in action, all adrenaline and reckless energy. Don’t you ever just want to blow off some steam afterward?”

Leonard _must_ be insane.

“If you hadn’t noticed, you and your pals almost got us both killed! You really think that ‘gets me going’?!”

“I think something about this situation does,” Leonard replied, and then he took a bold move into Barry’s space, grasping his uninjured ankle and pulling it aside. Barry flushed and kicked his leg out of Snart’s grasp instinctively, but the damage was done—his legs were now framing Leonard’s, his own a "v" that left him feeling a new level of exposed, his state of almost-total undress leaving little to the imagination. He blushed and leaned his torso up aggressively into the other’s space. “You’re insane. Even if that was the case, what makes you think I’d go to bed with a murderer like you?”

Barry’s anger made the air feel electric, scant inches between them. From up close, Len’s eyes looked flat and cold, calm and appraising. Barry's anger made his breathing heavy, waiting for an answer, tensing as he watched Leonard's hand come up slowly, very slowly, to rest on the pale, exposed skin of Barry's stomach. He tensed and his eyes snapped up to challenge Leonard. So what? The other's hand was surprisingly gentle over the vulnerable flesh protecting his inner organs, but he didn't want to back down. It didn't matter that he was feeling suddenly nervous. He couldn’t run very far or fast until his leg healed, and the cold gun was technically within reaching distance. Wondering how far Len would take this, and if he was walking on thin ice, he caught himself shivering as fingers whispered carefully over his abdomen, drifting deliberately upward. The hand took its time smoothing over his skin, coming to land on his clavicle and brush against his neck, causing goosebumps to erupt over his skin. He swallowed hard.

“What are you doing?” Barry's voice was still tense, but so much softer than he would have liked it to be.

Leonard’s face was close to his, and his eyes darted up from staring at his hand on Barry’s skin to meet his gaze. “Do you want me to stop?”

He dragged in a heavy breath, ready to say yes. The word stayed fixed in his throat, though, as Leonard’s fingers slid up that pale expanse of skin, over his Adam’s apple, making him tremble just a bit. Leonard’s hands were so cold, at odds with how warm Barry’s own skin was. He felt his tension and nerves coalesce into his stomach and no words came to him, Leonard’s other hand instead sliding up his torso, drifting over a pink nipple hardened by the chill, before coming to rest on the junction of his neck and shoulder. He felt more than saw this, his eyes half-lidded, nervous anticipation as his brain clicked offline.

Len tilted his head up with fingers along his jaw, pulled him gently forward with the hand on his neck and shoulder. He could have easily resisted it, pulled back, but instead went with the motion, letting himself be guided until he was leaning up, lips a hair’s breadth from Len’s own.

“Well?” Len whispered it over his lips, still teasing, always teasing. His heart was hammering in his chest, body a mess of signals—sex, danger, pain, pleasure—his senses overwhelmed by the contrasts. So he did the only thing he could to cut through the noise—he surged upward, crashing the invisible barrier between them and capturing Len’s lips in an angry, impatient, burning kiss.

God it felt good.

Len returned it with vigor, threading his hands into Barry’s messy hair and pulling him closer, impossibly closer, bodies stretching into skin on skin. Barry’s hands moved of their own accord, catching himself from falling back by holding on to Leonard, arms circling his waist, wrapping up his tightly muscled back and holding onto his bare shoulders. They both ended up tumbling back onto the mattress. The fingers in his hair pulled just enough to tilt his head back so Leonard could gain better access to his mouth, licking his lips until they opened for the other man. He gasped just enough for Len to deepen the kiss, letting him lick into his mouth. His tongue slid alongside Barry’s own, a sensation that sent heat down past his navel. He moaned into the kiss, stretching his body up against Leonard’s, thighs tightening around the other man’s legs.

Barry's senses were on overdrive. Leonard Snart was kissing him. Captain Cold was kissing him. He was kissing Cold—and oh, it felt too good. Better than it should. He didn’t know the last time someone had kissed him this deeply, this thoroughly, hands on the back of his head, framing his jaw, running down his back, strong arms circling his ribs, holding him place, pulling him still closer. Time seemed to dilate, and not because he was going fast. He couldn’t say how long the kiss lasted, only that he didn’t want it to end. He rocked his hips upward, instinctually searching for contact, and he broke the kiss to gasp when he found it.

Oh shit. What the _fuck_ was he doing?!

Barry snapped back from Leonard, abruptly back to himself. His hands had landed on the other man’s shoulders and he kept them there, but now to place distance between them, pushing Snart to the end of his arms’ reach. His breathing was heavy as he stared down at the space between them, wide-eyed. “What,” inhale, “the hell,” exhale, “are we doing?”

Snart was silent and Barry didn’t want to look at him, dropped his gaze downward to stare at the other man’s stomach and then to the side, angry. Snart’s hands were still on his waist and then they dropped away as the man leaned back. He could feel himself blushing as realization—conscious, self-aware realization—crept in that he had initiated the kiss, enjoyed the hell out of it. His hands clenched and then dropped as he scrambled out from underneath Leonard, coming to sit on the side of the bed, facing away from the other man. He tried to gather his thoughts. What had he just done?

“They call it kissing, kid. I take it you’ve heard of it?”

He breathed in again. Of course Snart was going to be an asshole about this.

“It's not exactly encouraging that you call me “kid,” you know.”

Snart chuckled but finally stood up, putting some distance between them. The air around Barry felt suddenly chill and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. That this didn’t seriously hurt his ankle was a small favor. He watched Leonard stretch and—to Barry’s simultaneous relief and dismay—grab his shirt up from the floor to pull it on, over his bandaged ribs. “Didn’t seem like you needed too much “encouragement” Barry.”

He scowled. There wasn’t too much of a rebuttal he could level, so we switched tactics. “This was a mistake, and it won’t happen again, Cold. Ever.”

Leonard was gathering up his things—burnt parka, cold gun—and stopped to face him. “Suit yourself, Flash. Though if you change your mind, I won’t complain.”

Barry threw his face into his hands and groaned. “You are _not_ flirting with me, Cold. That is just… I don’t know if I can handle that.”

The other laughed and Barry heard him open the door. Like that, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Barry...
> 
> Okay, few things:
> 
> 1\. Please let me know if this needs a "mildly dubious consent" tag or anything similar. Barry's feelings are conflicted, but ultimately he initiates the kiss, so I opted to leave the tag out for now.
> 
> 2\. Yay art! Though realistically, Len's left arm would *not* be that high with bruised ribs, but let's pretend, shall we?
> 
> 3\. I had a lot of ground to cover in this chapter, from getting them patched up to a point at which they would realistically share a kiss, despite their respective differences. As such, it is more than twice the length of any other chapter... after this, they should be shorter again, at least for a while. The next chapter is going to have a "one step forward, two steps back" kind of feel to it though :o
> 
> 4\. Barry finally thought of Leonard as "Len" :D I've been dying to get there.
> 
> 5\. PUNS. so many puns. This might have been the punniest chapter yet. My pride and glory.
> 
> 6\. There's a little bit in here, if you squint, that shows how Barry is an unreliable narrator. Basically, his belief that he's always shivering/trembling/etc due to the cold, and not due to Len's touch, or that his nerves are tension, not excitement, etc. He's normally in tune with his own emotions, but hasn't really come to realize he's attracted to Len, at least not authentic realization.


	6. Distracting (adj): preventing concentration or diverting attention; disturbing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one can think straight, but everyone's got work to do.

Fuck. What had just happened?

Barry spent the rest of the night contemplating that question.

After Snart left, he'd flopped back into the bed, exhausted and confused. He could feel the headache coming on and ran a hand down his face. What a mess. The pain in his leg was returning now that the adrenaline—this time from the kiss—started to abate. It would be a little while before his ankle was ready for running, and everything suddenly felt too quiet. It was the dead of the night, dim lighting, empty apartment. He could hear his own breathing, his own heartbeat. His lips still tingled. Leonard Snart was in his head.

If he was honest with himself, it was the best kiss he’d had in ages—years, maybe. It wasn’t rushed and fearful like his kiss with Iris in the timeline he’d changed, and it felt way better than kissing Linda had—no distractions, no fear of going too fast because Snart already knew about him, no guilt over his lingering feelings for Iris invading his thoughts. No thoughts about anyone else, really, just a brush of Leonard’s five o’clock shadow against his jaw, calloused fingers exploring his sensitive skin, full lips capturing his whole attention. He was hot just thinking about it, and rolled onto his burnt side so the pain would distract him from feeling too good.

He winced. At least the pain helped ground him a bit.

It still felt surreal. One day he and Cold were enemies, the next allies, the next… something else. Maybe not. Maybe this was nothing—blowing off steam. He was familiar with the concept, but honestly, Barry had never really gone in for that. Emotions tended to rule his relationships, typically some combination of pining, nerves, and elation (most frequently in that order). This was nothing like that. With Linda, like half of his former partners, it had half been investing emotions to move on from Iris, unsuccessfully. With some of his unrequited crushes, like the brief attraction to Oliver, it had been a fun distraction but ultimately unreciprocated and not too confusing. With Leonard, it was neither of those things—he didn’t plan on investing emotions, and apparently whatever attraction was there was reciprocated. Apparently, there was attraction there to _be_ reciprocated.

That concept was still throwing him for a loop; he didn’t know quite where it came from. When had he started thinking of Cold that way? Was it in the alleyway, when Snart was challenging with him and hoarding coffee? Or just before that, when he called Barry up and asked him for help with Deadline, proved he knew his whole schedule and teased Barry so casually? Maybe it was from the night they first agreed to this crazy truce in the forest, Leonard gleefully denying Barry's demands, unconcerned, happy to admit that he stole simply for the pleasure of it, the rush.

Barry shivered. Maybe that was it. That was the first time Leonard had seen his face, the first time Barry had gotten right into his space, close enough to see each expression, the ice in his eyes. They’d come to an impasse but Barry remembered not feeling too uneasy about it, knowing that whatever else Cold was, he was a man of his word, so wouldn’t kill anyone innocent, and wouldn’t let Barry’s secret slip. None of this solved his current dilemma though. He’d kissed Captain Cold. It definitely, positively, could not happen again.

He groaned and sat up, his stomach rumbling. He’d been running on fumes since fighting Deadline and his metabolism was not impressed. He figured he could probably hobble over to the kitchen without slowing down his ankle’s healing and was about to move when he noticed a box of crackers at the foot of the bed. How did those get there? When? He considered them for a moment, dubiously, and then decided it didn’t matter. They were gone a second later, and his stomach was much happier for it.

Then Barry laid back, grabbed the blanket from under him and tried to doze for a fitful hour, tried not to think of cold hands against his skin, teeth and tongue nipping at his lips. He dropped a pillow on his face. It smelled like Leonard. He threw it against the wall and instantly regretted it. This was a waste of energy. Groaned and got up. The bathroom was small and dingy, but the shower had enough warm water for him to get some of the remaining dried blood out of his hair and off his body, and it would have to do. If the soap reminder him of winter, he could just ignore that.

He was gone before five am—and if he raided the kitchen on his way out, Snart owed him that much at least—and made his way to STAR Labs at a decent clip, favoring his left leg only a little. He left the suit with a note to Cisco (mostly the word “sorry” written a few different ways) and grabbed up one of his spare changes of clothes. The hair sample he left for Caitlin to work her magic. Part of him wanted to stay and poke around, but he was still playing nice with Dr. Wells, at least for the time being. After that, he made it to work in time to catch a nap in the lab before his shift started. It had either been that or head home, and he still didn’t know what he was going to say to Joe about this mess.

Thankfully, it turned out he didn’t have to come up with much of a story after all.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

Something slammed down next to his head.

“Agh!”

“ _Relax_ , Barry. Its just coffee.”

He looked up to see Joe standing over him.

“Coffee?” his voice sounded sleepy even to him.

“Y’know, Barr,” Joe had left the coffee and was wandering to the other side of the workbench. “You are the only one I know who can sleep at work and still end up being late.”

Barry made a sound around his first swallow of coffee and looked at the time. Five minutes after eight. Naturally.

“Well, in my defense it was a—”

“Lemme’ guess—a late night, at the docks, with Captain Cold and his pals?”

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit—

“Barry, don’t look so surprised. You think I wouldn’t figure out that you were there in that explosion last night? What do you take me for? You'd better tell me all about it on the way over—we’ve been called in to investigate, figure out what happened last night. Something tells me you’ve got some clues.”

Right. Okay. His brain was still waking up. Of course Joe wouldn’t know about him and Cold, he only knew about him and Cold. It made sense in his head.

He filled Joe in on the ride over, about Cold calling him up—“you stood up pizza night for _Snart_?”—about Deadline—“guy sounds like a real piece of work”—and about the fight at the docks—“Are you kidding me? Barry you almost died!”—and so on. Joe was genuinely concerned, but Barry got the impression it had as much to do with the Rogues as Deadline, and maybe with Barry hiding things. He shifted uncomfortably at the thought, but Joe didn't say anything, just kept asking questions.

For his part, Barry may have left out a few details, ones pertaining to Snart stopping him for a chat in the alley behind Jitters, and going back to Snart’s safe house. The last in particular he doubted Joe would approve of, even without a kiss being involved. Working to take down a meta-human was one thing, but spending the night holed up with Captain Cold was another. Barry still wasn’t quite sure how he felt about staying there, laying in a bed that belonged to Leonard, using his shower, his soap. Wasn’t sure at all how he felt about spending half his morning since then thinking about Leonard’s voice, the smooth cadence, the way he drawled the end of his sentences. Barry stared intently out the window.

“What happened then?”

“Oh—ah, made it back to STAR Labs, Caitlin’s gonna’ analyze the hair sample, so hopefully we can stop this guy before anything else goes boom,” they were only halfway to the docks, stuck in morning commuter traffic, and Joe was already giving him a sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye.

“That’s it? Then why didn’t you come home last night?”

Barry felt his gut twist. He hated lying to Joe, and maybe he shouldn’t. But between everything happening, with Wells, with meta-humans, he didn’t feel like it was the right time to add another worry to Joe’s list. And maybe, the little voice in the back of his head supplied, he didn’t really want to confront Joe’s disappointment quite yet.

“I just, uh, needed some time? To get my head on straight. All of the stuff that’s been going on…”

“You know, son… you don’t have to carry this all on your shoulders. I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

Barry felt the knife in his gut dig deeper. It wouldn’t be so bad if Joe didn’t have that earnest, concerned expression going on. “I know, Joe. And thank you.”

“Good. Now don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again. You team up with Cold and his Rogues, at least keep me in the loop, dammit!”

Barry actually laughed. It was good to know some things would never change. The rest of the drive passed in a companionable silence, but it gave Barry time to think.

He wasn’t lying about kissing Leonard for fear that Joe would disapprove of his sexuality—Joe and Iris had known he was bisexual since college, if not before, knowing them. It was entirely to do with Leonard’s—Snart’s—past, his history. If it was just a robbery here and there, maybe it could be reconciled. But Leonard had murdered innocent people, hurt and endangered people Barry loved, and whether or not he agreed not to do it again, it wasn’t as though that fact was going away. And even if Leonard hadn’t hurt Barry’s friends, he was still a wanted criminal—would Joe ever let him in the door, would Iris ever welcome him at a family meal, would his friends in Starling ever see past it? No matter how he turned it around in his head, the only answer Barry could think of was “no.” It really wasn’t as though things would ever work between them, not beyond chance encounters like last night, not beyond angry, quick bouts of charged passion. And that wasn’t really what Barry was interested in, so all this thinking about it was moot. He wished he wasn’t so torn up about something that was pointless anyway.

They pulled up to the yellow caution tape at the pier, and Barry moved to get out of the car. “Barry?”

He stalled with his hand on the door latch, facing away from Joe.

“This deal—teaming up with Cold. It almost got you killed last night?” Maybe it was a question and maybe it was a statement. Barry didn’t answer. “Please tell me that’s over—you’re not planning to actually work alongside him again? You know you can’t trust him and—”

“I know, Joe. It’s done between me and Snart. Nothing good can come of it, anyway.” He set his expression to neutral and exited the car.

 

*********

 

Leonard was struggling. Mostly, he was struggling with how good the skin along Barry Allen’s neck tasted, how soft and smooth it felt under his fingers, how his muscles rippled when he pushed up into Len’s hands, how they felt pressed together, and how the younger man sounded gasping and moaning underneath him. He was struggling with how much of a distraction Barry was presenting, how he could still see and feel him when he closed his eyes. It was inconvenient when there was work to be done.

“Ready, Lenny?”

He broke from his reverie, staring up at the wall stretching behind them, still waiting for Mick. “Always, sis.”

They were taking a more offensive course of action. After last night, waiting around for Deadline seemed less appealing. Even if they couldn’t do anything about the meta-human yet, they could still take the fight to the Santini family, taking advantage of the fact that no one would see them coming after the clusterfuck at the pier. Not to mention that dropping in on Santini was their best bet in figuring out what to do about the hitman. Someone had to have some answers, and Len was done waiting on the Flash to supply them. After that kiss, he wasn’t even sure Barry would be willing to help.

Maybe Len had pushed his luck a little too much. He was normally good at being patient with things he wanted—and patience had paid off, in a sense. Barry had initiated almost everything; it was obvious he wanted it as much as Len. He’d let his guard down, let Len carry him to a safe location, even relaxing close enough for his breath to tickle the hair’s on Len’s neck. That had been interesting. And then he’d let Len patch him up, and returned the favor, had flirted back, had let his hands linger. So sure, kissing him hadn’t been the original plan, but he was clearly angling for it just as much as Len—flushed cheeks, dilating pupils darkening his eyes, glances at Len’s body that didn’t go unnoticed. And his attraction was even more obvious once they’d actually kissed—there was no hiding his _interest_ when he was grinding up into Len like that, especially with only a meagre scrap of cotton fabric encasing him. What Len wouldn't give to...

“You sure? Because you seem sorta’ distracted still, brother dearest.”

He exhaled deeply and closed his eyes in frustration. “I’m sure, Lisa. Is Mick even in position yet?”

She radioed him to check. “We’re all clear.”

“Then tell him to do it.”

Two minutes later, the chorus of shouts from inside the house picked up. Mick had burned a hole in the exterior eastern wall that gated Joey Santini’s opulent house. He was the youngest brother of the new Don and a little weak and wet behind the ears—the perfect target.

Len and Lisa took the distraction as an opportunity to scale the western wall—Mick was close behind them, circling around after setting the first (and second) blaze. After that it was almost too easy—he froze open a side door and burst into the house, always relishing a dramatic entrance. The minor chaos and scuffle that ensued was almost boring—dodging a few punches, freezing things and dropping a few guys while Lisa encased them in the odd gel-like and shimmering gold-colored plastic Cisco had cooked up for her. He still didn’t know quite what it was, only that it most definitely was not actual gold.

After that they were in Joey’s study, bursting through the door with fire, ice, and more than a little laughter. Some goons filed in behind them, running back to the house from the fires outside when they heard the fighting, but with Lisa’s gun to Joey’s head, it didn’t make much difference.

“You’re gonna pay for this, Snart! Mark my words, you and your little friends will—”

It was the same old song and dance.

“Spare me, Santini. Vincent said the same things, and as you can see, it didn’t exactly give me chills,” he smirked as he said it, looking back over his shoulders for a half second to evaluate the situation. Six guys behind them, no problem.

Santini swore about Leonard killing his brother, Mick got angry and yelled, lit the carpet on fire, Lisa laughed. It should have been fun, but the Santini’s were starting to feel like a broken record every time he dealt with them. So he cut to the chase, stepped over the smoldering carpet, and pressed his cold gun into Joey Santini’s stomach.

“Do you know how long it will take for frostbite to kill you, if it starts on your abdomen? I bet I could make it take a while.”

That got the man’s attention. “What’s your game, Snart? What the hell do you even want here?!”

“Deadline—everything you know about him, precisely.”

“There’s nothing  _to_ know—the man’s a freak but he gets results! And he's gonna' get you, Snart--best sharpshooter and weapons master in the business, so you'll get your's before long.”

He arched an eye at Santini. “His fighting really isn't anything to write home about, Joey, it's more his habit of phasing through walls that concerns me.”

Santini’s eyes got impossibly wide. “I knew… I heard, I mean I knew he could do things, but I didn’t…”

Shit, this might have been a total waste of time. He pressed his gun harder into the other man's gut. “How do we stop him?” Maybe he had something interesting in that regard, at least.

“You don’t—I mean I don’t know! Frankie hired him because he’s the best!”

Len snorted. If Deadline was even close to the best, he knew he’d be dead already—there were men in the industry even he didn't want to cross. This guy was two-bit, and if it wasn’t for his meta-human tricks, he wouldn’t even be that.

“If you haven’t got anything interesting for me, Joseph, then I’m afraid you haven’t got anything worth bargaining the remaining existence of your internal organs for.”

“No! Please, no—I don’t know how to stop him! I don’t! But I do know something, something important!”

“Go on…” he inched his gun back enough to show he could play nice.

“The Flash—he’s got a weapon that can take out the Flash.”

“I’m listening.” And suddenly he was, intently. It was the first time all evening he'd actually felt focused.

Ten minutes later, Joey Santini and his men were frozen stiff and the room was set ablaze, no need for evidence to be left in their wake. Len dropped into the driver’s seat of their getaway car just as he started to hear sirens in the distance—police response tended to lag in Santini neighborhoods. They were out of that part of the city and on their way back to their current safehouse when Mick and Lisa’s chatter slowed down and Mick turned to him.

“So... what now, Snart?”

He smirked, eyes flicking up look at Mick in the rearview mirror, noticing the red sunset behind them. “Now I call the Flash.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun Dun Duunnnnnnn. 
> 
> Just a friendly reminder that Leonard is canonically a ruthless criminal with no demonstrated compunctions about cold-blooded murder (ﾉ◕‿◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ~
> 
> As you might have noticed, I'm kind of experimenting with narration across chapters. In some instances, the narrator has more information than the character, and the reader can at least glimpse between the lines. At other times, the balance is shifted, and the character is privy to more information (such as right now). I'm hoping it creates a sense of tension, but this is new to me so I could be way off. I do feel like this chapter seems rushed, but I have a tendency to skip over description when it's irrelevant, largely because I have a tendency to skip it when I'm reading...
> 
> Also, what the hell does Lisa's gun actually shoot? I refuse to believe it's actual gold.
> 
>  
> 
> p.s., I sat down and figured out the details for the rest of the plot for this, beyond my vague notes and general direction.In the upcoming chapters we'll see more of Joe, some of the STAR Labs crew, finally Iris, and maybe a few others :3
> 
> p.p.s. for those of you you aren't exhausted by the ridiculous punning yet, I hope you noticed the chapter summary has a much-intended pun ;)
> 
> p.p.p.s - I made a side blog (http://coldtomyflash.tumblr.com) that I don't update much, but its where I reblog all Len or Barry gifs and things to help me refocus on characterization and inspire me, in case you're interested. Another author here also made http://coldflashcw.tumblr.com which is probably going to be more active :)


	7. Just peachy, can’t you tell?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry’s having a rough day.

Barry’s day was long, gruelling, and frustrating, and that was just his day-job. Homicide scene, cut and dry but a family was involved and so it was particularly unpleasant. He tried to distract himself with the science, but he was agitated in general. It had been three days since the explosions and Royal Rock and nothing yet—no plan yet for how to defeat Deadline, no sighting of the man, and no word from Snart (not that he was really hoping for one), except that Barry heard _someone_ had burned down Joey Santini’s house the day before. Gee, wonder who that could be. He struggled with whether letting Rory burn down a mobster’s house violated their deal about not killing, but knew that the man was far from “innocent.” Still, it didn’t sit right with him, and made him more convinced that telling Snart off after their kiss the other night had been the right idea.

“Got any results yet, Barr?”

He looked up at Eddie, walking into the doorway of his lab. “Fingerprint pattern is definitely the father. You’ll have to wait on the coroner’s report but it seemed fairly obvious that the cause of death was strangulation, so this should be a cut-and-dry case.” A father murdering his wife and child, just perfect.

“You’re the best, Barry,” Eddie reached for the report he held out.

“Seriously, don’t mention it,” his voice sounded sullen and bitter, even to his own ears. He’d been moping ever since getting called to the case.

“Everything okay?”

Sometimes he wished Eddie weren’t so genuinely kind. At least then he’d have a reason to be mad at the guy, or to dislike him. But no, they were actually friends, and he owed the other at least an attempt a smile, so that’s what he did. He was pretty sure it came out pinched. “I’m fine it’s just… cases like these…”

Eddie’s eyes widened in understanding, put two and two together.

“Right. I’m so sorry, Barry, I should have thought,” he put a hand on Barry’s shoulder in that earnest way he had. “If you ever need to talk, you know I’m here for you, buddy.”

When he smiled this time, it was a little warmer, but he gently shrugged off the hand anyway. “I know, Eddie, and thanks. I’ll be fine, I’ll go for a run this evening and get it out of my system.”

Eddie smiled, and nodded. He was a bit like a golden retriever sometimes but… Barry did feel a bit lighter. Not because of Eddie, but because it was nice to remember that even if he had little comfort to find, then at least Iris was being taken care of by someone so sincere. It almost didn’t sting anymore, his jealousy—right now, Iris was better off being safe with someone that wasn’t him, not when the Reverse-Flash was in his ear most evenings and tracking his every step.

He shook himself out of that unpleasant line of thinking and finished up for the day before sprinting off to STAR Labs. He had to go to there tonight to hear Cisco’s newest plan to stop Deadline, which meant seeing the man who’d murdered _his_ mother, who had caused his father to be wrongfully imprisoned. Now the real frustration would settle in, being stuck in a room with Wells while Cisco and Caitlin gave him the latest updates on their plan. They’d been concocting something for almost two days, a lot of science-babble back and forth. He could follow most of it due to his own forensic background, but didn’t have all the details and context for what they were working on to figure out exactly what they were planning. Tonight, he’d get the full explanation, and see whatever new toy Cisco had been working on for the past forty-eight hours.

When he got there, his day almost brightening. Wells wasn’t around yet—Caitlin said he was out for a quick meal—so he got a few minutes to just enjoy joking around with Cisco, laughing almost like it was old times again, getting teased about the damage he’d done to suit the last time and getting a chance to thank Cisco for the hard work he’d put in repairing it. He couldn’t wait to canvas the city in it again tonight, a chance to stretch his legs and work out some of the day’s frustration.

“Good evening, Mr. Allen.”

He felt his good mood evaporate. “Dr. Wells, hi!” The forced cheer made his cheeks feel tight but he could hear Joe’s voice inside his head, telling him to place nice.

“Has Caitlin told you what she devised from Mr. Deadline’s hair sample yet?”

“No! No, we were just getting to that actually?” he turned to Caitlin.

“It’s quite amazing, really,” she always lit up when she got to talk about biology, and now was no exception, excitedly turning to her desk to pull up a visual of Deadline’s cells. “It took me a while to figure out, because I was looking at Deadline’s cells when I should have been looking deeper than that. I had to look at his cells in the transmission electron microscope to figure out what was going on, and even then...”

Barry listened to her explanation of how the visualization of atoms was more a matter of sensing than seeing and that it was only through some experimentation on his cells under the microscope that it became even somewhat evident what Deadline’s body was doing, using a zoom of over five hundred thousand times. He knew some of it from his own studies but a lot of it was new to him, and Cisco cut in at times with a “And this is the coolest part” or “Tell him about the frequency-duplication factor!” which Barry was pretty sure was just a term Cisco had made up.

“So, wait, what does this mean in practical terms?” After a few minutes, his head was starting to spin.

“It means, Barry, that Deadline’s cells, through his DNA, have the capacity to change his atomic structure. As soon as something touches his skin, he has the capacity to sense it’s atomic structure. Then, if he wants to dematerialize, he temporarily mimics that structure and rearranges his cells and body on an atomic level so that he can go through things, or they can go through him instead. He basically turns his body into thin air if bullets—or I guess you—are coming his way.”

That was, that was… “Pretty freaking awesome, right man?” Cisco always had an eloquent way of putting things, chewing on a licorice and grinning like a madman.

“Yeah but… how do we stop something like that? Won’t he just mimic anything we do? We can’t exactly put him in the pipeline like that, guys.”

“That’s where I come in, man!”

Whew, Cisco was on it. Right, some new toy. Dr. Wells rolled his chair toward Cisco and looked, if Barry didn’t know any better, genuinely proud.

“Cisco’s been working on something truly spectacular, Barry.”

He felt a lump in his throat. Was Cisco working with the Reverse-Flash, or was he just a pawn? “I’m sure he has!” He tried his best to be bright, to choke back the sudden wave of nausea.

“It’s so cool, Barry, but I swear, I’m going to be super careful with it—not like the cold gun, or anything else. This puppy means business and we can _not_ let it fall into the wrong hands.”

Oh great. He ran his hands through his hair.

“What is it?” He was expecting a gun, a weapon of some sort. What he saw instead confused him. Cisco was holding up a… bracelet? It looked like the things that were attached to someone’s ankle when they were on house arrest, at least in the movies.

“A… collar?”

“Not a _collar,_ Bar—it’ s a next-gen energy-input system!”

“Uhhhh….”

“What Cisco means to say, Barry,” Dr. Wells interjected, of course, “is that to stop Deadline, we have to give him something his cells and atoms can’t replicate. This device, when attached to our meta-human, will put energy into his system at a rapid pace, not enough to impair his functioning except on the level of his atomic transformation.”

“But won’t he just copy it once his body learns its signal?”

“That’s the best part, Bar,” Cisco cut back in and Barry was more than happy to look at him instead of Wells, “it switches up its pattern according to a randomized sequence, so the energy it injects changes every second—Deadline won’t get a chance to learn the signal because it will already be changed! It will put enough energy into his system to disrupt the atomic changes and it can’t be copied!”

“That’s amazing!” He meant it, and it must have been the right thing to say because Caitlin gave him one of her more gracious smiles. He could only imagine how hard his friends had been working the past few days to sort this out, and it shouldn’t even be their problem in the first place. For a moment, he felt a strong and painful pull of guilt in his chest, wishing he could trust them like he used to.

“Just one question though… how do I attach it to Deadline without going right through him?”

He looked around at their faces, all of them suddenly cloudy and drawn. Were they just realizing this issue now, or was there something he was missing? Wells’ chair turned to face him and the man came a few feet closer, looked up at him.

“We were just discussing that, ah, hiccup, while you were at work. I think that if you go fast enough, take your speed to a level that he can’t anticipate you, maybe when he’s distracted—”

“He can turn himself into air, how am I supposed to catch him like that?!” it came out a lot more vehement than he meant for it to. Dr. Wells narrowed his eyes but kept that calm, cool expression he always did.

“Now I know, Barry, that last time might have been a little hairy out there, but this time you won’t be working with Cold and I think—”

“I think you should work with Cold.”

Barry’s eyes snapped up to look at Cisco, “ _What_?”

He looked at Wells, Caitlin, and Barry in turn, and then Barry looked at the other two as well. They looked somewhat frustrated and stubborn, which told him there’d been an argument before he got there.

“Look, Barry—”

Wells interjected, “We talked about this, Cisco—”

“No, let him talk. If Cisco has an idea, I want to hear it,” especially if he’s arguing with you, Barry thought but didn’t say.

The scientist seemed emboldened by Barry’s support, “Look, man, I know you don’t like him, and I know what happened last time. Hell, I don’t trust him more than I can throw him, and I ain’t worked out in a year. But Deadline’s gunning for Cold and I think, if Cold distracts him like he did last time, you might have a shot at getting this attached to him.”

The room was tense. Barry looked at Cisco, wanting to disbelieve what he was hearing. He almost died last time, and not just because of Deadline. Snart had hurt Cisco’s brother, had hurt all of them in some way. But Cisco saw strategy as much as sentiment, and if there was another way, he probably would have argued for it. He wanted to disagree, to say it was insane, but without telling them about the kiss, about his hesitation to be around Snart again, Barry wasn’t quite sure what ground he stood on—he’d thrown himself into a lot more danger than this before.

“Barry, look, Caitlin and I aren’t so sure it’s a good idea, and we’re considering other options—”

Barry was so g _oddamn_ tired of listening to Wells try to convince him of things.

“Caitlin, is that right?” his voiced was harder than it should be, “Are you with Dr. Wells or with Cisco?” he was phrasing this wrong, too angry, too abrupt.

“I…Barry,” she looked hurt and confused, if not by his words than his tone. “I just want to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

He tried not to grind his teeth. “Yeah well that’s already happened with this guy, so we might as well try it Cisco’s way, right?”

And now Wells decided to stay quiet—ever the chess player, the observer. It frustrated him more—how long had Wells stayed patient, observant? He ran his hands through his hair, told himself ‘not now’ and ‘cool it’ but visions of today’s murder case, of a child and a mother slaughtered, danced before his eyes. He exhaled, and Cisco stepped in again.

“Look, I’m not saying it’s the best plan, Barry, and we can do something else...”

They were all looking at him, and he knew he was being a jackass. He took a deep breath, and went for broke. “Look, I’m sorry guys,” play it cool, Allen, “I had a rough day at work—a family murder, father killed the wife and kid and I just…”

Cisco and Caitlin’s face’s morphed into perfect sympathy, Cisco taking a step forward and Caitlin rushing to his side, a hand on his arm. Wells didn’t move, but Barry took another breath, whispered thanks to Caitlin, and turned to him, schooled his expression. “Dr. Wells… do you think teaming up with Cold again will work?”

The man gave him a long, calculating stare, one he knew well but only truly knew now. He tried to keep his face open, earnest, imagined Eddie’s expression from earlier that day, the picture of sincerity.

“I think, Mr. Allen, that it has a better chance of working than if you were __not__ working with Cold, but I don’t trust him and I don’t think you should either. If we work with him, it is to use him, not to become allies or friends.”

Barry’s heart hammered in his chest. Did Wells know? He couldn’t. But he had studied Barry, that much he knew, and if anyone would suspect something… he didn’t want to think about Wells’ weird obsession with him, or the implications of it.

“Got it. After the pier, I won’t trust him or his Rogues with anything.”

“Atta’ boy.”

And wasn’t it weird, to be congratulated on being mistrustful? He smiled, and if it was rueful, he hoped they wouldn't notice.

After the debrief and agreeing he’d find a way to reach Snart, Barry ran around the city for two hours with barely a blip of activity—apparently crime did rest, just when he wished it wouldn’t. He could tell Cisco and Caitlin weren’t that into it either, little chatter coming over the comms. After his outburst and tension from earlier, he didn’t really blame them, and maybe they wanted to give him his space. He wished he could talk to them, but didn’t know what to say—he had no proof, and Wells was their mentor. So he kept it in, or tried to at least, frustrated all over again that he had to work with Wells, frustrated that he would have to work with Snart and couldn’t explain why that was a problem. He just tried to run it out. When that didn’t work, he slowed down and told the STAR Labs crew he was going to call it a night, and that he’d bring the suit back the next day. He cut off the comms and changed in a blink, ignoring whatever protest Cisco sounded like he was about to mount.

He was almost home—walking at a normal pace to try and relax—when his phone started to ring. It was an unknown number, and he tried to tell himself it might be a wrong number, or a telemarketer, but some part of his brain wondered if he was about to hear from Leonard again, after the days of radio silence. Though Barry had mentally decided not to work with him after their kiss, tonight’s briefing had changed that, and he honestly hadn't been quite sure how to get a hold of the other. So if he was a bit hopeful, sue him.

“Hey kid, you free right now?”

He ignored that his heart jumped up to his chest, hammering.

“Snart—hey—yeah—I mean, hi—yes,” oh shit he was already floundering. He just wanted to tell the man what he knew about Deadline and be done with it—there was no need to be nervous. He intended to pretend the kiss had never happened.

“Good. Your favorite alleyway, meet me in 3 minutes.”

Barry took it as a challenge, “I’ll be there in one.”

He could hear Len chuckle as he hung up the phone and whipped his Flash suit out of his bag. He stopped abruptly, looking down at it in real time—if he put it on, the communicator and GPS would ping back to STAR Labs. He wasn’t exactly sure what Leonard wanted to say, but if it was about the other night… he stuffed it back in his bag and zoomed to the alley, only forty seconds left to make it halfway across the city. He did it in thirty, but took a last ten to case the alley and make sure the other Rogues weren’t hiding around the corner or anywhere they could see him. Apparently, it was just Len, which sent a thrill up his spine and then a pit into his stomach when he tried to crush the feeling down. He'd been suppressing a lot today, and might as well add to the list.

He came to a stop a few meters from the other man, still speeding. Leonard was standing in the middle of the alley, so slow to Barry’s eyes, just now turned to look over to where Barry’s flash of lightning had been a few seconds ago, checking around the corner. He was in a black peacoat, not his usual parka but still large enough to disguise the cold gun—Barry knew that much, since Cold had been wearing it when Barry had first seen him kill another man. An unpleasant reminder of why he was here, so that he could work with yet another murderer.

He slowed down so Snart could see him.

"Sixty five seconds, what took you so long?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update! This took me longer than usual to write because I've been busy defending my dissertation proposal (woo hoo, I passed!), but I hope that I make up for it by having a double update! Actually, this chapter and chapter 8 started as one long chapter, but I had to split it because it was waaaaay too long. I'm about to proofread and post the next chapter, so it'll be up in... a flash ;) (sorry, I couldn't help it.)
> 
> Anyway, Barry’s having a rough day, his tension with Wells is starting to boil over.... Let's see how it turns out in the next chapter though ;)


	8. Don't say I'm in denial, ‘cause baby maybe I don’t want to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry reaches a boiling point. Len is taken aback by the Flash, which isn’t the first time it happens, and maybe, he hopes, won’t be the last time either.

Len turned when he saw the Flash suddenly appear in front of him out of the corner of his eye, and glanced down at his watched to check, “Sixty five seconds, what took you so long?”

He was thrown, for a brief second, that Barry was in plain clothes—a pair of dark jeans, running shoes, bag deposited on the ground by his feet, wearing a red tee with a jacket that he’d draped over his arm, likely because he was warm from running, leaving his lean and strong arms on display. His hair was windswept and messy, cheeks a bit flushed, eyes bright. He looked practically edible. Not why you’re here, Len, he told himself. Still, it didn’t hurt to look.

“Save it, Cold, not my fault if I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to see you.”

So they were back to that—Cold and Flash, verbal sparring. Well, two could play that way.

“You know, Barry, for someone who wasn’t in a rush you sure have a habit of opening up your schedule for me,” he made sure to lace his voice with the right amount of condescension: not too much, but enough to call bullshit and then some.

Barry looked annoyed and glared. Score one for Cold. But then the young man steeled himself and took a step forward, “We need to talk about Deadline.”

“Well that, at least, we agree upon.”

“Why, do you know something?”

“Ah, ah—you first, Flash.”

“You’re the one burning down houses to get information, so why don’t you start?”

Hn, of course Barry would have heard about that, he did work with the CCPD. “Technically, that was Mick. But… you do have a point. How about we take turns, a bit more quid pro quo? That worked so well last time, after all."

Barry’s jaw took a stubborn edge at the memory and he stepped forward, even more aggressive. “I’m not here to play games, Cold. If you know something then spill.”

“Testy, testy,” he teased, but was half-serious. Barry was decidedly more on edge than the last time he’d seen him. Well, the last time he’d seen him had been a bit of special case, but even so.

“I mean it.”

Len sighed, frustrated. The kid was being a real pain about this, and part of him was curious. Was it just the kiss? Had they back-peddled that much? He might as well stay on track, though, if Barry wasn’t up for any fun.

“I don’t know how to stop Deadline yet, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because I do know what he has that can stop you, Flash.”

Ah, now they were getting somewhere. Barry’s eyes widened and his defensive post softened by a hair, arms unconsciously dipping a bit. Progress.

“Me? I thought he was after _you_!”

“He is—but he may have realized after the pier that you present a bit of a challenge, Barry, and he’s not keen to let you mess things up again.”

“So what’s he planning, then?”

“Not so fast—I’ve told you what I have to offer, now it’s your turn,” he nodded towards the other, patient.

Barry scoffed and looked to the side, tried to posture, crossed his arms, uncrossed them and put them on hips. It was almost cute how hard he was trying. But then he started talking, if grudgingly, saying that Deadline’s ability to phase or dematerialize was a result of his cells detecting the frequency and vibration of atoms in the materials he touched and mimicking them, moving through them. He could rearrange his atoms? God meta-humans were freaks, sometimes.

“So how do we stop him?” he asked when Barry was done with the science.

“Why don’t you tell me what he’s got to use against me, and then I’ll let you know what Cisco and Caitlin cooked up.”

Very good, Mr. Allen. Len was more than a little pleased that the kid wasn’t a total idiot. He inclined his head to the side, “Fair is fair. Deadline has a weapon, military-grade, definitely not civilian stuff by the sounds of it. It injects and removes energy from a system—slow things down or speed them up. In your case, I think it’s safe to say he’s going to slow them down.”

Barry’s eyes widened. “No way—that’s _exactly_ like what Cisco’s been working on to take this guy down! A device that works on an atomic level, puts energy into the system in a chaotic pattern that can’t be duplicated or tracked because it keeps changing, so Deadline won’t be able to mimic it.”

Oh, _very_ interesting. Len wished, not for the first time, that Cisco Ramon could be convinced to take up with the Rogues instead of S.T.A.R. Labs—the kid was _far_ too handy when it came to creating weapons. Safe to say he’d burned that bridge, though.

“And how do you plan to hit him with the device? Is it a gun?”

“No, it has to be attached to him somehow, can’t just be shot at him. I was hoping you’d distract him long enough for me to get close and get it on him.”

“Because that worked so great last time?" He resisted the urge to grind his teeth at the thought. Being bait was really not that appealing. "How about we do things a bit different this time: you distract him because you can actually dodge his attacks, and I'll attach this thing to him?"

“Are you crazy? You'd never get close enough, not without my speed!"

"Then maybe we should modify it so it can be shot—seems like a much better plan, really."

"What? No! Just hand over a weapon that can disrupt his atomic structure to you—there’s _no way_ we're about to leave another weapon in the hand of the Rogues, Snart.” 

“Well if you have a better idea, do tell, Barry. If not, we go with my plan. It's in our best interest to stop Deadline for our own sake, you know." The other looked like he was about to argue, so Len figured it might not hurt to add, "We look after those we’re in with, Barry, you can trust us with this, at least until Deadline is dealt with.”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say.

“What, you want me to just trust you? After you almost got me killed at Royal Rock? After you laced the entire place with C-4 that could have killed innocent people?!”

He considered the other man, all anger and tension. He was almost worried it would turn into a fight right there in the alleyway, his cold gun strapped in its holster at his side but that  _really_ not being what he'd planned for the evening. His jacket covered it but he considered doffing it, just to show the Flash he was ready, came dressed in his combat-gear as always. He decided to play it cool for now though, many more cards yet to play before it got to that point. Barry was rash but he wasn't as bad as dealing with Mick, or even Lisa most days.

“I’m a man of my word, Barry—no innocent people were killed at the pier, and you made it out of there mostly in one piece, or do I have to remind you of the role I played in that?” he was tempted to ask about the ankle but thought it might be overkill. Barry seemed to be running just fine, anyway.

“Yeah, well what makes you think I’ll take you at your ‘word’ just because you guys haven’t killed me _yet_?”

His eyes narrowed and he scanned Barry’s expression—closed, guarded, angry, more tense than he'd seen him at any of their prior encounters. Something clicked into place. This wasn’t because of Len. Well it was, but not _just_ because of him. The other man had gone from easily agreeing to a tenuous truce in the middle of the forest to shutting down and not trusting him after several more encounters, each of which involved more reliance and trust-building than the one before. And it couldn't be just about the kiss—Barry hadn't been shut down at all during that, quite the opposite. In fact, the only time Len could really think of him as taking this tone had been when Barry was piggybacking on his back, grumbling that it was none of his business when he'd inquired about trouble in paradise. It hadn't been because of Len then, either, Barry's defensiveness, but the other had tuned it out then, closed off the channel between him and his buddies at the lab. 

He switched tactics, stood confident and considering as he enquired, “is this about your pals at S.T.A.R. Labs?”

And bingo—the other man’s eyes widened and then he immediately tried to school his expression. Again, it was almost cute.

“Wha—no, why would you even—what gave you that impression? Everything is great at S.T.A.—”

“Save it, Barry, you’re transparent,” the other man’s mouth snapped shut and he looked, if anything, contrite. It was definitely cute, he decided. “What bee is in your bonnet, Flash? Cisco beat you at poker night? Dr. Snow reject your advances?”

He may or may not have had a vested curiosity in that last one.

“What—no! This isn’t them, it’s—never mind, Snart." 

Ah, so it was: “Dr. Wells?”

Barry didn’t answer. Cold was apparently three for three this evening—the Flash really _was_ off his game. And also not looking at him, preferring to glare off to the side. Someone ought to let him know about how many tells he had, truly, but it wouldn’t be Len. It was far too useful being able to read the brunet so easily.

“The good doctor got you down, Barry?" He took a casual step closer, confidence increasing, voice regaining some of its swagger. "You know I’m not exactly in a position to be a judge of character, but if you want some unsolicited advice, anyone with his reputation is bound to have a few skeletons in his closet.”

“Yeah well, “good” doesn’t exactly describe Dr. Wells as it turns out.”

From the ice in Barry’s voice, maybe those skeletons were literal. He hadn’t considered that. Note to self: look into Harrison Wells.

But Barry looked… genuinely upset, eyes suddenly bright and angry, glaring at the wall harder, then down at his feet, pulling in a heavy breath as he clearly tried to steady a rush of... anger? Pain? He was obviously trying to hide it, to hold whatever it was in, and it set Len on edge. The transparency of the other man wasn’t just his lack of guard, it was that he felt things deeply, was naturally expressive because he was naturally emotive. Len wasn’t, but it reminded him, if anything, of Lisa, when they were kids and she used to cry and get upset, and he had to help her through, because no one else was there to do it. Not that Barry was crying, but it pulled at the same bit of his anatomy, some tugging sensation right in the middle of his chest. The sensation that was tugging him forward, in fact, a few more steps into Barry’s space, leaving a buffer of a foot between them.

 “Look, kid,” his hand landed on the other’s shoulder. That wasn’t the plan, but it happened anyway. “Whatever Wells did, there’s no reason to take it out on the rest of the world, just play nice and make up so we can—”

“There _is_ no more playing nice! He killed my mother, Leonard,” Barry snapped; his voice was the wrong note, low, strained and half-distorted. It set his hackles up, protective instincts flaring to life before he even processed the words. Barry's eyes were bright, red-rimmed and angry, “He killed her and I have to pretend I don’t know, have to work with him, have to see his smug face, and _know_ —” his voice cracked on that note and he broke off.

Oh _shit,_ the kid was about to start crying. Len didn’t think, just wrapped the other up in arms, hugged him forward, bridging any space between them. A hand reached down to smooth a circle into Barry’s back, another went up to cradle his head. He had no idea what the hell he was doing, because this, this was definitely not the plan. But what the hell else do you do when someone opens his soul to you without even thinking about it? And Len knew, knew something about absent mothers and shitty fathers, or in Barry’s case father-figures. So he held the other man, and let him cry. It didn’t last long, but he could feel the smaller man press his face into his shoulder, reminding him they really were almost the same height, and could feel him practically—literally?—vibrate in his arms. Barry stayed quiet, maybe crying but not sobbing, keeping his arms in front of him, cradled between their bodies and pressed against Len’s chest, curling into the soft fabric of his shirt. It was enough to make some part of him ache.

After a minute—seventy three seconds, his mind supplied, like it meant something—the other pulled back, and Len let him go, his arms dropping. He felt suddenly cold without Barry pressed to him, while the other took a step back and used the insides of his wrists to wipe his eyes. The jacket he had been holding had dropped to the alley floor when Len had gathered him up into the embrace.

 “Sorry, I don’t know what, ah,” he sniffed, “came over me. I’ve just been having a tough time with Wells, and…”

 “He really murdered your mother?”

 Barry nodded, wrapping his arms around himself, seeming smaller than he really was.

 “Kid, if I were you, I’d have put a bullet in his brain the second I found out.”

“Ha. Part of me wishes I could,” he looked like he meant it. Barry Allen was a fountain of surprises. “But it’s a lot more… complicated than that.”

He nodded; in the world of the Flash, he wondered if anything wasn’t complicated. No wonder the kid was breaking down in back alleys—how much was on his shoulders at this point? Saving Central City every other week, working alongside enemies like the Rogues, and then also working with the man who murdered his mother—and did that mean his father was innocent? A tangled web, his own mess of lies was starting to look cozy in comparison; at least he knew where he stood with everyone, even if half the city’s criminals and police were out to get him at the moment.

The moment stretched out too long. Barry shivered, still in just a t-shirt, jacket still abandoned on the ground. Len’s eyes dropped to it and picked it up, dusted it off, stepped forward and wrapped it around Barry’s lean shoulders. He was still surprised how much muscle could exist in the other’s comparatively thin frame, hands brushing briefly down strong biceps before he retracted them.

“Thanks,” Barry sneaked a glanced up at him. He tried to give the kid something akin to a smile, but was pretty sure it came out lopsided. “And sorry. I know this isn’t exactly—we’re kind of enemies, still.”

“I’m getting the sense, Barry, that we’re becoming ‘a lot more complicated than that’,” he smirked, and it was worth it when Barry smiled up at him. It was amazing, how he could go from tears to sunshine in the space of a few minutes, even if it was a dim smile. It really wasn’t the Flash’s speed that was going to give him whiplash, Len thought.

“Right, we uh—well, I guess this means I do trust you, at least a little, for now, Leonard.”

“Call me ‘Len’, kid—hearing my full name is getting painful,” he felt the corners of his lips turning up when Barry's smile grew. His hand reached up of its own accord, brushed through Barry’s hair, around the shell his ear, and again when the other man shivered. Sensitive, and not just from the cold of the air or his fingers.

He didn't think. A second later, he was leaning in and kissing Barry. This was _not_ in the plan. The plan could burn for all he cared. Barry was kissing him back, and for the moment, that's all that really mattered. So he kept kissing, enjoying the feel of Barry's soft lips under his, hands cupping the other’s jaw, curving his body forward when warmer arms encircled his waist underneath his coat, pulling him in. It was surprisingly tender, so unlike the other night—no clash of teeth and tongue, no anger. It was just soft, deep, and something in his stomach felt a sense of longing, dragging him forward, erasing the space between them, deepening the kiss. He pulled back to change angle and then leaned forward, nose against Barry’s cheek, capturing the other’s lower lip, then back again, forward, feeling Barry’s teeth gently pull at his own lower lip this time. He barely noticed when the jacket slipped back off Barry’s shoulders and fell to the ground again, too focused on the places where their bodies met. The boy would be the death of him, and in that moment, Len felt he would go willingly.

They stayed like that, joined from lips to hips, arms and legs, taking in the feel of each other, the smell of each other, Len’s hands curling into Barry’s hair, around his waist, while Barry’s snaked up to his shoulders, gripping. It stayed soft until it didn’t, until he found it getting deeper, headier, tongue sliding into Barry’s mouth and he just held himself in check from groaning aloud, not knowing he’d missed the feel of the other’s tongue until he had it again, his grip on the other's waist tightening. He ran his tongue along the roof of Barry’s mouth and felt a frission go through the other, almost electric in his hands. His hand snaked down from Barry’s lower back to the hem of his shirt, sliding under to feel his warm, smooth skin.

He almost whined when Barry broke the kiss, suddenly, leaning back, hands on Len’s chest, pushing him a few inches away. _Dammit,_ it had been too much. They both pulled in short breaths, fast, suspended in the moment with their hands still on each other, Len’s thumb teasing at Barry’s spine, Barry’s hands warm on his chest, and then Barry said, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Oh right, the kid _had_ said something to the effect of this never happening again. He chuckled, and couldn’t help himself from leaning forward to nip the other’s ear. Still sensitive, Barry shivered in his arms. “Oh, we really shouldn’t.”

“I mean it,” Barry gasped as he said it. 

Len licked the shell of his ear, and this time was _certain_ Barry vibrated. God, he was curious about that. “So do I. As far as bad ideas go, kid, you are number one on the list.” He probably should stop though, if Barry wasn’t interested, but then the other had the gall to tilt his head to the side and back, exposing his neck for Len to kiss. Well, he wasn’t about to ignore the invitation, and was more than pleased when the other gasped for him, hands suddenly gripping his biceps, body pressing forward. So it wasn’t just his ears that were sensitive. He licked a stripe down to the junction where neck and shoulder met, and Barry practically mewled in his arms. The sounds he was making alone were enough to get Len hard, never mind the make out session that had just happened. He wasn’t quite sure of the last time he’d wanted someone this badly.

“Wait,” Barry gasped. Len checked in his groan of frustration and leaned back—he was frustrated at the loss of contact, not with Barry. “I’m not—I can’t, not with someone who I don’t—who I’m not—”

Of course, Barry Allen would need some romancing, which was something much harder to accomplish given their different professions. He sighed and resisted the urge to rest his forehead against Barry’s, instead loosening his grip on the other man’s waist, not breaking contact but letting his hands gently settle on the narrow hips. He made sure he caught the other's gaze when he said, "Let me guess—a cheap fuck in the alley behind your coffee stop is not what you go in for?”

Barry winced, “Something like that.”

He nodded, exhaled, and finally stepped back, cricking his neck from side to side. At least the resulting chill from the evening air would help make walking more comfortable in a few minutes. He turned away and heard Barry’s voice behind him.

“Tomorrow, meet me and we’ll figure out an _actual_  plan to deal with Deadline, with help from S.T.A.R. Labs.”

“And the Rogues?”

He turned halfway back to see Barry dusting off his jacket again, having picked it up. “Yeah, them too I guess.”

Len nodded. “See you then, Barry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *OldSpice Guy Voice* Look at the tags, now back to me, now back to the tags. 
> 
> You might notice, the first tag is “emotions”. And yet up until this point, where were those feels? They were waiting, here, and will continue to insinuate themselves in the next few chapters, slowly chinking away at your armor until you must hug Len because he is a precious cinnamon bun, and must also hug Barry because he is too good, too pure for this world. (if you're not on tumblr and don't read The Onion, I apologize for referencing weird memes in my authors' notes)
> 
> Also, I haven't actually read any of the original comics that feature Deadline, so the explanation in the last chapter about his abilities, and the explanation about his anti-meta-human energy gun (which is at least somewhat canon to the comics), is totally off the cuff. I apologize about all the real science I've butchered here, but Lisa Snart canonically has a gun that freaking shoots gold so I don't feel too bad about my pseudo-science.
> 
> Ps- double update! Please note that there is chapter 7 just posted as well, in case you skipped right to the newest one!
> 
> Pps - does the kiss feel too abrupt? Len just kind of.. short circuits and goes for it. His brain knows he wants Barry, and after comforting him and seeing this raw side of him, he doesn't really think and just does. It's not in his nature, but that's part of the effect Barry has on him ;)


	9. So your type is tall, dark, and … murderous?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The West family likes to interrupt Barry’s day

Barry phoned Cisco first thing in the morning to tell him about the weapon Deadline might have, and about the upcoming meeting with the Rogues. Cisco immediately went into work-mode, hastily rattling off all the things he was going to do to secure STAR Labs before Snart and his “cronies”—Cisco’s word, not his—stepped one foot in it, and Barry hastened to clarify that he was going to meet the Rogues at some other location, with the crew in his ear over the comms. To his surprise, his friend liked that plan even less, and was quick to list off reasons that Barry shouldn’t go alone, including but not limited to the combination of cold, heat, and gold guns, explosives, ambushes, injuries, etcetera.

“Cisco, Cisco—I _know,_ but it’s _fine.”_ He cradled the phone in his shoulder while his hands speedily put together a sandwich for breakfast, “I’ll meet them at the train yard or something, and then you and Caitlin won’t have to actually look at the assholes who kidnapped you both. Not to mention we really don’t actually want them stepping anywhere near STAR Labs if we can help it.”

“I don’t like it, man—you shouldn’t be goin' alone to meet these guys, it’s too dangerous. And besides, if we’re gonna’ work with them, I need to find out what they know about this weapon of Deadline’s," he was finally over not getting to select the nickname, “and we need to show them how the atom-buster works, in case something happens and they need to use it on Deadline if you can't.”

“Atom-buster?”

“The anklet, for Deadline? The name’s a work in progress, but like I was say- _ing_ ,” he dragged out the syllable, “It’s way easier if they actually come to the lab man, I need to be there when we share intel.”

Barry thought about that, taking time to think by munching on his sandwich. Cisco was used to his eating habits and they were way past issues of eating while on the phone, so the other waited patiently for him to finish his bite. Truth be told, after last night, Barry mostly didn't want Cold and Wells in the same room together, but he couldn’t really tell that to Cisco, not at present, not while he still didn’t know where the other stood. So instead he offered, “How about you come with me? STAR Labs will still be secure, and we won’t have to worry about the Rogues hurting Caitlin or Dr. Wells,” who Cisco would presumably see as relatively defenseless, though Barry knew better.

The other hesitated on the other end of the line, but ultimately agreed, and even added with some bravado, “I guess the Rogues _do_ respect my mad tech skills, and it’ll be nice to show ‘em something that isn’t a weapon.”

After that, Barry sped to work, weaving in and out of cars as a red blur to make it on time. As soon as he was in the door, Eddie was asking him to go over the coroner’s report and add his crime scene notes to it, which put a damper on his mood but at least presented a distraction from everything else going on, not to mention from the intrusive thoughts he kept having about Leonard. Before talking to Cisco, he’d spent most of his morning at the house—and the better part the prior evening—trying not to think about Len, about his hands, callused fingers on his back, and about his lips, which were surprisingly soft, and about the way he said--

“Barry!”

“Uhh, wh—” he whipped around, coroner’s report in one hand and coffee in the other, foot half on a stair leading up the lab, “Iris?”

She was just coming in the door to the precinct.

“Hey Barr, can we chat for a minute?”

He glanced over at Eddie’s desk but the other hadn’t seen Iris yet. “Are you sure you don’t want to say good morning to Eddie, first?” And give me a minute to get my head on straight, he silently added.

“Nope, you’re just the man I want to see,” she announced, hopping up the stairs and looping her arm into his, dragging him along and throwing a surreptitious glance over her shoulder to where Eddie was focused on his files and still hadn’t noticed her.

“O-kaaaaay, what’s this about?”

“I’m throwing Eddie a surprise birthday party and I could use some help.”

“Oh, Iris, I don’t know—I mean, I'm not really the ‘life of the party’ kind of guy—” she was already pulling him into his lab. It was endearing, the way nothing got in her way when she was determined.

“Oh nonsense, Bar! Besides, Eddie likes you, and you know all of his friends here at the station. It’s not like I can ask Dad to help me plan!”

He laughed and wandered over to his desk to drop the coroner’s report on it. At least Iris was a lot more fun as a distraction than his paperwork would be. He sipped his coffee and leaned against the desk while Iris took up residence on the opposite table, sitting with her legs dangling.

“Well?

“Okay, I’ll help you plan. But,” he added when she was about to cut in, “if Eddie hates everything about it then I was never involved.”

She smiled wide, “Deal,” and then set about asking him questions. It was nice, felt like they were on even footing again, for the first time in a while. As they chatted, him mostly supplying monosyllable answers and agreement, his thoughts couldn’t help but wander to Leonard, and to how different he and Iris were, how she was so light and pure and he was … the opposite.

Then his thoughts turned back to the prior night, and about how Len tasted like spearmint, that wintery smell he emanated clicking partway into place, crisp and cold mint, and hints of something more. He thought about how his hands felt, with calluses on his fingers that Barry could still imagine the feel of along his back. Thought of the touch of those fingers and how he didn’t know what to do when he felt that pull in his gut urging him forward, and yet at the same time had felt the cold gun brush against his elbow when they were kissing, enough to knock him to his senses. How Barry had spent all evening afterward trying not to think of Len, only to wake up not once but twice during the night, aching between his legs and having to grip himself and bury his face in a pillow so he wouldn’t groan Len’s name aloud as he came. It made him think that all of this was just too—

“Barry? Earth to Barry? You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

“What?! Of course I am! … What did you just say, again?” he felt sheepish, his cheeks where hot, caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Were they still talking about Eddie’s party?

“Oh my goodness, Barry Allen, you’re thinking about a girl, aren’t you? A new girlfriend, maybe?”

“What—no! Why would you, I mean I—”

“Oh come on, I’ve known you forever, and I’ve seen _that_ expression more than enough times to know! You always get all soft and googly-eyed when you’re thinking about a girl you like.”

“I…” he didn’t know what to say. The moment stretched a hair too long and Iris’ eyes widened.

“Oh! Ah, sorry, Barry,” she hopped off the desk, “I mean, you probably don’t want to talk about these things with me. My bad, I’ll just, uh…” she made a motion toward the door and, oh no, Iris thought he was thinking about her. The one time she figured that out was the one time it was actually not true. Naturally.

“No! No, ah, it’s fine, it’s just,” what are you saying Allen, don’t do it, don’t do it, “It’s a guy, actually.” Aaand, you did it. He scratched the back of his neck. Shit.

“Oh,” Iris took a second to process, and then her entire face lit up and she stepped back toward him in her excitement, “ _Oh_! Barry, you haven’t had a crush on a guy since sophomore year in college! How could you not tell me?!” she swatted his arm but she was grinning again, and it was infectious. He laughed and some of the tension from his shoulders relaxed, for what felt like the first time in days.

“It hasn’t been _that_ long, and hey, I’ve been busy—being in a coma kind of takes you outta’ the game for a little while.” Too long, really. He hadn’t had sex in… well it was a really embarrassing number. Maybe that’s why he kept waking up thinking about Leonard.

Iris’ eyes softened, “Hey, I’m sorry about what happened, with you and Linda. I hope things go a bit better with this guy?”

“Ah, yeah, that’s… probably not going to happen, actually?”

She did that thing where she raised her eyebrows and looked a bit ominous and demanding of more information. She’d definitely inherited the look from Joe, but it was more adorable on Iris.

“He’s… we’re not that compatible.”

“Well, is he into you?”

He blushed a bit and tried to play it cool, “Certainly seems that way.”

“Oh. My. God. Barry—dish! That is a ‘he kissed me and I liked it’ kind of look.”

He blushed harder and groaned, throwing his face into his hands. “How do you do that? Do you have telepathy?”

She laughed and it was light like rain, “You’re the one with ESP, remember? And no, Barry, I just know you. And if this guy is so into you, and you’re _clearly_ into him, then what’s the issue?”

He dropped his hands and leaned back against the desk, leaning back against it so he could tilt his head back and stare at the ceiling. “It’s just… it’s complicated, between us.”

“It’s not because he’s a guy, is it? Because you know that’s not an issue and—”

“No, it’s not that, it’s not about gender it’s just about… how I feel.”

He could feel his eyes on him but didn’t look. She was clearly too good at reading him and she didn’t need any more ammunition. “Bar… this is serious, isn’t it? You really like this guy?”

He sighed. Yep, she really didn’t need any more ammunition. “You know me too well, you know that?”

“How long have you guys been seeing each other?”

And wasn’t that a hard question to answer. “That’s the thing, we’re not really… it’s not like we’re actually seeing each other.”

“Well, how did you meet?”

“Uhh… I, uh, rolled my ankle when I was jogging. He helped me out.”

“You rolled your ankle? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I mean it was a little while ago—”

“A _while_? So then what? Have you guys been on dates?”

Ummmm— “We took a walk at the pier, y’know, before it blew up”—right before—“And we’ve been to Jitters”—alleyway—“… twice. And…”

“ _And_?”

“I’ve seen his place”— his safe house—“but only once, and it wasn’t for long.”

The look she gave him was a combination of excited, mischievous, and scandalized. “Barry Allen, you had better be using protection!”

“Oh my—No, Iris, we haven’t—not _yet!”_

She laughed. “Just checking, Barry. And for the record—three dates? Even if they’re not dinner and movie type nights, you guys are definitely dating, even if it’s not official. Why don’t you tell him you want to go steady?”

Who even says things like ‘go steady’ anymore, he wondered, and could almost laugh picturing Len's face if he ever said those words.

“I just… look, you’re right. He’s into me, and I know that. But he’s a really… physical person. And I don’t think the emotional side of things is really there for him.”

“That’s just because you don’t know how to tell if someone likes you, Barr. If he’s half as much as you seem to think he is, I’m sure he has feelings for you.”

He paused, not really sure he wanted to know, but… “How _do_ you tell if someone has feelings for you? If they’re the kind of person who’s a bit… cold. Like standoff-ish, steady, you know? He’s not exactly a heart-on-his-sleeve kind of guy.”

She made a 'hmm' noise of curiosity, “Now we’re getting somewhere. And let’s see… is he protective of you?”

He thought about the piggyback ride, about patching him up, and the hug from the night before, followed by the intense kiss. He tried not to blush at the last thought. “I guess so, in his own way.”

Iris arched an eyebrow but kept going, “And he respects you?”

“Definitely,” That, at least, wasn't a question. Len was a condescending asshole, but he also accepted all of the times Barry had said “no” and definitely respected his speed and abilities, had been willing to make truces with him, on equal footing.

“Okay, that is a great sign. So he respects you, is protective of you, wants to kiss you… does he compliment you?”

He thought about that one for a minute. “More like… teases me? I think he likes to push my buttons.”

Iris grinned, crossed her arms, and nodded decisively. “Barry, this guy is head over heels for you, you goofball. Please tell me you haven’t screwed it up with him by acting like you’re not interested because you don’t think he is.”

“No! I mean… I don’t think so. But even if he likes me…”

“Come _on,_ Barry, don’t ruin this for yourself!”

“I’m not, it’s—he’s… his past is a bit,” he tried to come up with a word that wasn’t ‘criminal’ or ‘murderous’, “…dodgy. He’s done some stuff that’s a little questionable, things that ended up hurting some people.”

Iris deflated, going from a thousand watts of sunshine to overcast with a chance of storms. “Bar… that’s in his past, right? He doesn’t treat you like that?”

“No!” he was surprised by how immediate, how vehement it came out. Technically, Leonard _was_ his enemy, one who could do and had done a lot of damage.

“Well there you go, then. I’m not saying it’ll be perfect, but if this guy does care about you, he’ll be willing to put in the effort to be a good person, or a better person, and treat you right. And if he doesn’t… well, was he worth it?”

He nodded, but couldn’t help but include, a little despondent still, “He’s just… I don’t think he’s really the type of guy I could bring around here, you know?” He motioned to the lab, the precinct, and she laughed a little, surprising him by relaxing.

“So basically, what you’re saying is that you found a bad boy, someone my dad would never approve of?”

He groaned and dropped his head into back his hands, and could hear her giggling. “Oh that is perfect, Barry! He’ll stop caring about me and Eddie if you bring home some guy with a record.”

“Joe’s gonna’ kill me if he finds out.”

“You mean he does have a record?!” she waited for Barry to object and when he didn’t, cackled. “Oh, this is too good, Barr, too good. Dad is gonna’ flip and I’ll be the golden child again, just you wait.”

She didn’t know the half of it. “Thanks for the support, Iris.”

“Oh come on, if and when you bring this guy to supper for the first time, you have got to invite me.” She was grinning, but then sobered up a bit, “And if things do get serious with mystery-man, please tell me about it… Promise?”

He sighed and extended his hand to shake on it, then shoo’d her away so he could get some real work done. After, he actually felt a lot lighter. Iris’ laughter had taken a weight off his shoulders, like maybe the world wouldn’t end if he had (did have) feelings for Captain Cold. And maybe… Leonard wasn’t so bad after all. Well, okay, he was a killer, but so was Oliver, and that had never stood in the way of their friendship. Sure, Oliver’s motives were a bit more pure—although not according to Wells, he thought sourly—but his kill count was also a lot higher than Len’s. And now that he thought of it, both Ollie and Len had deliberately injured him, which… maybe he had a type? Add in that both of them could keep up their own in a fight with meta-humans, not to mention their similar frames and muscle, and their over-the-top (though totally opposite) personas when in their respective Arrow and Captain Cold outfits… oh, he definitely had a type.

All of this thinking and talking about Len's past made him wonder… Barry finished his report for Eddie and then worked away at the pile of other files on his desk, analyzing and writing, using his speed to boost up the process so he would have a bit of extra time at the end of his day. Then, his heart speeding up just a bit, he went down to the file repository and asked if he could sign out the file on Leonard Snart. He stuttered over the name and smiled too brightly, but thankfully the clerk was more than used to the awkward adventures of Barry Allen, having been down here every other day for a file on some case or another, and more than once for a request on an old, cold-case file on some seemingly impossible occurrence. All of the clerks were nice enough to him, which was the only reason he didn’t mind the archaic lack of digitization of the system.

File in hand, he started back up toward his lab, eager to get reading and learn more about Len. Did he actually have a high kill-count, or was collateral damage only a thing that started with the cold gun? Did he have any more siblings besides Lisa? What about how many times he’d been to jail, or escaped from it? What a—

“Bar! There you are!”

Oh come on, Iris _and_ Joe stopping him on the stairs in the same day?

“Joe! Hey!” he plastered on a big smile. “I didn’t see you at home this morning?”

“Nah, I’m working a graveyard shift this week,” said Joe, hand clasping Barry on the shoulder and heading up the stairs, Barry clearly expected to follow.

“The night shift? But Eddie’s been here all day—and actually, I didn’t see you at the scene yesterday?”

“Nah, that one’s open and shut, Eddie’s taking point and doesn’t really need the help,” they wandered into Barry’s lab, “So I was asked to help out with this Scudder case, real weirdo who likes mirrors.”

“You ever feel like Central just attracts a lot of nut jobs?”

Joe laughed and looked over at him, “You’re telling me, kid… But hey, that’s what I came to ask about, any updates on this meta-human situation you’ve been dealing with? You heard about Joey Santini’s place right? Our boy Rory has been busy.”

“Yeah, about that, actually… I’m working with Cold again.”

Joe’s good humor was gone in an instant. “Barr, what? You said that was done with!”

Barry dropped Len's file on his desk, hoping Joe wouldn't notice it.

“I know, but…” he explained about Cisco’s invention to stop Deadline, and about how STAR Labs agreed their best bet was to work with the Rogues on this one.

“You mean Harrison Wells just wants to put you in front of some murderers and thieves again?” he was not impressed.

“No, look, it was Cisco’s idea—Dr. Wells didn’t even like it to start off with.”

“Barry, you are talking about working with a killer to catch a killer—that doesn’t seem like a problem to you?”

“Cops do it all the time—asking for information from inmates and serial killers!”

“Who are behind _bars,_ Barry!” his voice came out like a growl.

“Look, this is the best chance we have to stop Deadline and—”

“So why stop him? Why not let him and Snart blow each other up?”

Barry’s anger flared and he stepped toward Joe, chest puffed, “Well, for _one,_ because Deadline has some weapon that Len says is designed to stop the Flash!”

Joe’s eyes widened and Barry felt like he’d made his point, a burst of smugness coming on, but then his surrogate father said, very slowly, “… _Len_ says? ‘Len’? As in, Leonard Snart? As in, Captain Cold, who you are apparently not just on a first name, but a _nickname_ basis with?”

Oh _shit._ There was nothing more frightening in the world than Joe West’s quiet and controlled anger, at least not to someone who felt like his chastised child. Caught with his hands in the cookie jar twice that day, thank you West family. And then, to make matters worse, while Barry was struggling for a response, Joe’s eyes clearly reading something in his face, the other man then down to the case file still on his desk and saw the name. He took it back, the lack of digitization of the file system was a personal crime of which he was the victim.

“Joe…”

“You tell me right now, son, what is going on with you and Snart.”

His heart clenched. Could he tell Joe, about the kiss, about his feelings? Just looking at his father’s face, he didn't want to; the man was angry but he knew it masked concern, it always masked concern. Part of him crumpled, just a bit, and he stalled for time by taking a deep breath and running his hands through his hair. Then he gave in, and told Joe about his first meeting with Len, then the other knowing his schedule and seeing him behind Jitters, about the safe house. He told him about seeing the other man the night before, about breaking down and telling him about Wells, about crying and the other actually caring. He didn’t mention his feelings, the stolen kisses, either at the safe house or the night before, but he was honest about everything else, as honest as he had the energy to be. By the time he was done, both of them were leaning against the different tables in the room, in the same spots he and Iris had occupied only hours before. Now, however, he no longer felt light, under the weight of Joe's heavy gaze.

“So, if I’m hearing you right…” Joe was still processing, he could tell, “You trust Leonard Snart with your secret about Harrison Wells—something we haven’t trusted _anyone_ else with—and you and him have some sort of… tag-team thing going on? You know, when he's not busy stalking you?”

He winced at Joe’s wording. “I mean… I guess?”

“Barr… you believe the best in people, and I know that, and it’s… it’s part of what makes you great, son, part of who you are and I love that about you. And you were right, about the Arrow, and maybe you’re right about Caitlin and Cisco, but _Snart_? I know Snart, I’ve seen what he can do, what he does. The man’s a psychopath, Barr—no remorse, no guilt, no redemption there.”

Barry was glad, for a half-second, that Joe mentioned the Arrow. At least he’s not the only one who can see the similarities. But he went for placating, “I know, Joe… Leonard is my enemy, an enemy of the Flash, and he’s dangerous, and he’s killed people—"

“Has no respect for human life, more like.”

Barry frowned, “I mean, he did agree not to hurt anyone else, and no cops or security guards have ever died from his heists…”

Joe eyed the folder on Barry’s desk and arched an eyebrow at the younger man. “And now you’re defending him. See why I don’t want this goin’ any further?”

“Look, Joe, we’re working with him on this one, it’s already decided. After that, whatever. Me and Snart will go back to Flash and Cold and you won’t have to worry about it.”

Joe gave him a look that meant he had his own thoughts about that, but he came over to where his son was standing, Barry with his arms crossed over his chest in what was supposed to look defiant but mostly just looked deflated. Warm hands landed on his shoulders and he looked up at Joe, who was standing tall while the younger leaned in on himself, wishing he knew what was going on between him and Len for real, and if he could trust the other.

“Barry, I worry because I love you. With everything going on with Wells, and all the trouble you get yourself into on a daily basis… I just want you to be _careful,_ son.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Thanks Joe. I know.”

"That's all I ask, Barr."

They shared a hug, and then Joe clapped him on his shoulder and reminded him of the time, which had him whipping out of there and toward STAR Labs, ready to coordinate with Cisco and call Cold to set up the details of their meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we get to see Iris! I adore her, and if anyone could brighten Barry's day and how he feels about Len, I think it would be her (and probably Felicity). Here, we don't see her jealous side, in part because A) Len is not her co-worker and therefore somewhat rival, B) Len is a man, and therefore in a bit of a different dating pool, and C) she has suppressed her feelings for Barry maybe even harder after the ESP incident, and D) things are good between her and Eddie because in this fic, he's not keeping any lies from her about the Flash.
> 
> Also, I have a bit of a love/hate thing with Joe West. Mostly, I adore him, especially his relationship with Barry. However, he's overbearing, and treats his kids like kids rather than like adults, and all the bullshit about not telling Iris has me so mad at him (and Barry and Eddie) that I'm holding back from shouting at the screen when I watch certain scenes. In general though, he's clearly a loving father who cares very deeply about his kids, and we'll be seeing more of him in a few chapters ;)
> 
> Aaaand... sorry for no Barry/Len interaction this chapter :( We'll get back to in next chapter though, which will be in Len's POV, and is a third to a half written. With any luck, it should be posted soon!


	10. So a train yard is a great place for a date, right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made, and Barry asks Len for an unexpected favor

The old train yard was wet and muddy after the recent rain from early that morning, poorly lit and away from prying eyes. Was the Flash trying to hint at something, or did he just share Len’s enjoyment of setting the stage? Either way, they were there, stepping out of one of Len’s older rides and over empty tracks to a platform where he could see Barry’s red suit and Cisco by his side, bundled up in a sweater and jacket.

“The Flash and his friend, you boys look chilly.”

He was close enough now to see Barry try to stifle an eye-roll—no appreciation for good humor—but Cisco might be trying not to laugh. Good kid, Len knew there was a reason he liked him.

“Spare us the jokes, Cold, we’re here to talk business.”

“Ooh, frosty. Well, have it your way, Flash,” he smirked and Barry scowled. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Cisco.”

“Lisa.”

Len glanced between them—ah yes, Cisco’s little crush. Mick huffed at his side. “Cisco, you remember my friend, Mick Rory?”

Cisco dragged his eyes off Lisa and put them on Mick, expression immediately going sour. Much better—keeping a good kid like Cisco out of Lisa’s grasp was the least he could do for the other, not that he’d ever be thanked for it.

“We all know each other, what we don’t know is the best way to get Deadline,” that was Barry, straight down to business, as he’d said. Len tilted his head and spared a thought for what Wells must be saying in his ear right about now.

“We are all ears,” he shot, and Barry sent him a look like he might have actually caught Len’s double-meaning. Smart boy.

After that, Cisco was more than happy to launch into an explanation and demonstration of how to active his “phase-defier” which, as far as names went, was still apparently a work in progress. The important part was that it couldn’t be activated _until_ it was on Deadline, or the man would phase through it, but had to be turned on when it was already attached. As far as Len was concerned, this left them at square one, because if they could stop the guy long enough to do that, taking him out would be easy. He cast an eye at Barry but didn’t say anything quite yet, biding his time, but apparently he didn’t have to because Mick pointed out that issue for him, in a bit more of a heated manner than Len may have, a few expletives tossed in the mix.

Some bickering back and forth, mostly between Cisco and Mick until Barry stepped in, with a “Guys this isn’t getting us anywhere! We are _not_ killing Deadline if there’s another way to stop him and this is the plan we’re working with!”

Mick stepped into his space, “You mean that _you’re_ working with—if I have a shot at this guy I’m gonna’ burrrrrn—”

Len’s patience ran up. He shot his cold gun straight up into the air, the familiar _whiiirrr_ making everyone jump and stare at him. “ _Mick_.” It was the first thing he’d said since Cisco had started talking, “Unless you have a better idea, we’re fine to use Cisco’s little toy, for now. The only important question is what we’re going to do to stop him long enough to get it on him. We can cross any other bridges when we get there.”

Mick huffed and Lisa scoffed, but he ignored their antics. “Flash, I would suggest that’s where you come in.”

“Oh?”

He smirked and outlined the plan that had been forming in his head when everyone else was talking. No one else liked it, but no one else had anything close to a better one. It was going to be close, if it worked. Oddly, Cisco in particular was mutinous, muttering about “my suit, why is it always my suit” but agreed to help... “On one condition, Cold. This weapon that Deadline has—the slow-gun—when we stop him, it goes home with us.”

He hadn’t given that much thought to the weapon, but Lisa was quick to interject, in her most perfect pout. “Now Cisco, that doesn’t seem too fair. We’re the ones putting our lives on the line in this little plan of Len’s, it doesn’t seem right that we shouldn’t have something to show for it.”

“Now way, nuh uh—never again am I gonna’ let a weapon designed to hurt the Flash just stay kicking around, not when there’s something I can do about it. You guys need our help to pull this off—no gun, no deal.”

Len had to hand it to him, Cisco was one of the few people who could manage to surprise him. Lisa looked like she was about to object again so he stepped forward, parka swaying around him, and cast her quelling glance. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Barry open and shut his mouth. Interesting.

“It’s a deal,” his smile was icy and he dropped a hand onto the young man’s shoulder. “We don’t need weapons like that, not when you’ve made us all such nice ones already, Cisco.”

That should shut Mick and Lisa up. Cisco looked, well, less than impressed, tense with clenched fists, similar to the time Len had crashed his little party with Lisa. It was nice to know he hadn’t lost his ability to intimidate the kid. He cast a glance to Barry, who was standing close to Cisco and had stayed quiet since they’d hashed out the details of the plan. The other man’s expression was inscrutable, harder to read than usual—the cowl didn’t help—but he was meeting Len’s gaze with intensity. It stopped him for just a second, transfixed, but then Barry broke eye contact and stepped close to Cisco, so Len dropped his hand but stood his ground .

“Well, Flash, if we’re all in agreement?”

“We are, Cold. Contact me with the details of the fake heist and we’ll go from there.”

He nodded, Mick gave a mock bow, and Lisa blew Cisco a kiss. He was tempted to blow one to Barry, but figured he should check his behavior at least a little, and just smirked at the thought instead as they returned to the car.

On they ride back, they mostly talked details about the plan, Lisa asking if he was serious about letting S.T.A.R. Labs keep the gun, him reminding her that they had bigger fish to fry, including a contingency plan or three for if the Santini’s decided to send some of their men along with Deadline. That’s where Lisa and Mick would really come in, as the Flash would be occupied. After about fifteen minutes of driving they fell silent, Len turning onto quieter streets and contemplating what Barry’s expression had been about. He supposed he’d have to wait to find out, as their current plan meant it would likely be a few days before he had an excuse to chat with the speedster again.

Which is part of why he was surprised when his phone rang a few minutes later. Typically, he wasn’t one to talk and drive, but typically he also wasn’t one to get calls. He flipped it out of his pocket to see the contact “Idiot Kid” flashing on the screen, and didn’t take the time to wonder what it could be about before answering.

“Didn’t expect to hear from you quite so soon, kid.”

“Leonard—Len—yeah, about that… are you maybe free right now? Like you don’t have any plans for the next half-hour, or…?”

He couldn’t help but tease, “You asking me on a date, Scarlet? The train yard was pretty romantic, mood lighting, should have known it would get you in the mood.” Lisa made a scoffing noise and kicked the back of his seat, Mick just looked over at him in curiosity.

“No! I mean, ah, not—I was actually hoping to ask you a favor,” his voice got quieter on the last word, and Len’s eyes narrowed as he mentally calculated. What on Earth could Barry Allen want from him, aside from, well, he was pretty sure the Flash wasn’t actually calling him for a hook-up.

“Where should I meet you?”

Lisa’s voice shot up from the back seat, “Len!” He ignored her, as Barry rattled off the name of a 24-hour diner on the South East side. He confirmed that he knew the place, and that he’d be there in twenty.

“Great! Uh, is it too much trouble if I ask you to come alone? It’s just… it’s a bit of a… it’s about something we talked about, last night.”

It was about Wells. Maybe there was something to Barry’s earlier expression, after all.

“I planned on it, kid. See you then.”

“What the _hell_ are you doing, Len?! I know you’re obsessed with the kid, but come on, he calls you and you just wander where he says like a puppy dog?”

He frowned at her in the rearview mirror. “Can it, Lisa. The Flash is an ally for now and it’s worth our while to see what he wants.”

“Worth _your_ while you mean, unless you’re inviting us on another one of your little ‘dates’ with him?”

He wasn’t and she knew it, triumphant tilt to her posture and smirk.

“You goin’ t’ meet him alone again, Len?” Mick finally spoke up in that low rumble.

“Don’t tell me you have a problem with it too, Mick,” he was pulling over in front of a reputable business, one where a cab would actually stop to pick him up.

“Just tell me that you’re thinking with your head and not your dick.”

Lisa cackled from behind them, leaning forward as Len put the car into park.

“It’s all part of the plan,” which was bullshit but it might as well be part of the new plan. “Now get out and come drive, I’ll take a cab.”

All three stepped out the vehicle and Len realized how recognizable they were, especially all together like that. Mick wasn’t exactly inconspicuous to begin with, and his own parka was practically trademark now, even when he was alone. Quickly, he shrugged out of it and opened the trunk to drop it in.

“What are you doing, Lenny?”

“Making sure I don’t send any innocent bystanders into fits of panic, dear sister,” he replied in a similar sugary-sweet voice to the one she used.

“Uh huh, and the cold gun?”

He was forced to remove the holster and drop it on top of his parka, no way to disguise it without his jacket. “Happy?”

“Not even a little bit,” she was still smiling, and Mick was just standing there looking back and forth between them.

“Then we’re even. Now get out of here, I’ve got places to be.”

“Mmhmm,” she called from the other side of the car, getting into the passenger seat. “And pretty boys to be with.”

Of course, his sister would take the last laugh, slamming the door behind her after that. Mick gave him a last questioning look before finally hopping into the driver’s seat and pulling away from the curb, leaving Len there to hail a cab.

He took twenty three minutes instead of twenty. It grated on him, just a little, but his mood was alleviated when he watched into the diner and easily spotted Barry, munching on what appeared to be his second plate of food. Right, metabolism. He slid into the booth across from him, casting his gaze around to make sure they were alone.

“Mmfff,” Barry had the grace to swallow his bite, “I didn’t see you walk in!”

“Nothing gets past you, kid.”

The other was wearing a green sweater, his hair messy from running.

“Are you hungry? I’m thinking about ordering dessert?”

Len arched an eyebrow at the two empty plates and let his eyes travel up Barry’s thin frame. “You’re something else.” That Barry actually smiled in response to that was only slightly ridiculous, and when the waitress came Len did end up ordering a slice of key lime pie (Barry was having pecan), so he was content to wait and let the kid come around to whatever it was he wanted to talk about. It meant, if nothing else, one of his first chances to study Barry Allen when they were both at relative ease, no bruised ribs (which had only just stopped hurting) and no dark alleyways. The green of his sweater brought out the tone in his eyes, and he nattered on for a few minutes about pie, something about the history of it and how it had been around for thousands of years, dating back to Egyptian Neolithic times, though the pastry version was more recent and traced to the Ancient Greeks. Len really didn’t care, but was comfortable leaning back into the booth, arm slung over the edge and watching Barry, who was clearly a bit nervous and had a hard time staring at Len for too long. The kid had zero chill.

When his pie was finished though, Barry looked down at his empty plate like had betrayed him before dropping his fork, taking a breath and leaning forward on his elbows. Down to business, then. Len leaned in too, and looked expectantly at Barry.

“I need a favor, Leonard.”

The full names were out. “What, exactly, is this favor, Barry?”

“It’s about Dr. Wells—about what I told you, last night.”

“I figured,” his voice was short.

“I don’t want him to get his hands on the slow-gun.”

Len waited, because— _what_?

“The way he talked earlier, when we met at S.T.A.R. Labs, and again earlier over the communicator, to make sure we made it clear it was coming back with us. He wants it, and I want to make sure he doesn’t get the chance to use it.”

Len leaned back again, digesting that information. “What is it that you want me to do about this, Scarlet? Isn’t Cisco going to destroy it for you?”

“I don’t think Wells will give him the chance. And even if Cisco does, he's smart enough to put it back together if he’s got the pieces.” He noted the sour turn to Barry’s mouth. “I was hoping that I could convince you to steal it, or I mean, just take it, after we stop Deadline." He made some motion that he apparently equated with thievery, waving his arm vaguely. "Wells won’t suspect I’m in on it, and I won’t try to stop you, but you might have to sell it a bit, convince the crew back at S.T.A.R. Labs that this was some…”

“Nefarious plan?” his words were sardonic, but Barry let out a little laugh.

“I guess you could call it that.”

Oh would Mick and Lisa be pleased. Not that he would tell them it was the Flash’s idea, but this should get them off his back, at least for the time being. “Just to be clear, kid: you want me to deliberately double-cross you, to take the gun, you won’t do anything, but you’ll pretend you tried to stop me?”

“Exactly!” The other beamed. And he thought Len was the crazy one.

He searched the earnest man’s expression for a hint of lie, or trick, and maybe predictably, found none. “What’s in this for you, Scarlet? You’re giving up a weapon that can apparently slow you down, to one of the people who’s most likely to use it on you. Why?”

Barry ran a hand over his face, and his expression was suddenly tired, stretched thin, as though he’d been thinking of that himself. “Lesser evils? I’d rather you have it and know what you’re going to do with it than to see him with it.”

“That’s it? You think it’s safer with me than with Wells?”

The other didn’t answer, communicating some complicated expression with eyebrows and a half-nod-head-tilt, alongside a shoulder-shrug. It was easy to agree, then, to a deal that only had an upside for him. Not that Len was one to underestimate potential risks, but he couldn’t figure out exactly how the wheelchair-bound scientist could pose a greater threat than he did. Not unless it was a mental or emotional one, or he could get to Barry when his guard was totally down, which made him wonder… it didn’t seem likely, but it couldn’t hurt to check.

“So then Barry, I have to ask, this hold Wells has over you… is it because you two are fucking?”

Barry’s eyes widened like a cartoon’s character’s, his exhaustion vanished in favor of looking scandalized. “Are you _crazy_? Of course we haven’t—why would you even think—he killed my mom, Len! Why would I _sleep with him_?”

He was tempted to make the old ‘friends close and enemies closer line’ but it was a bit too close to home for their current situation, one he’d prefer not to remind Barry of, at least while they were in comfortable collusion. Instead, he scanned the other’s expression for a moment before saying, “You talk about him like he’s some cat and you’re the mouse—a skittish lunch he’s playing around with, but you can’t escape his claws.”

The brunet’s expression turned dark, “You wouldn’t be too far off with that one, I guess.”

Hmm. He didn’t think Barry would tell him even if he did ask, but the younger man definitely considered Wells to be a threat, with or without that weapon. On that note, Barry then excused himself to use the washroom and Len took care of the bill, leaving enough cash for the meal and a healthy tip. When the brunet got back, he looked like he’d taken a minute to splash some water on his face, his hairline still damp, and Len wondered just how tense he was, and how deep things ran with Harrison Wells.

Before he could think what to ask though, Barry noticed the cash on the table and reached for his wallet.

“It’s on me, kid,” Len said, standing.

“But I’m the one who asked you to meet me here?”

“Consider it my civic duty—spend my ill-gotten dollars feeding the local hero. It’s the least I can do for the fine citizens of Central,” his smile was a touch wry.

Barry rolled his eyes just slightly, but there was a the beginnings of a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips, a bit more relaxed as he followed Len out of the diner. “Well, thank you, and thank you from the citizens of Central City.”

“Heh, you should send your grocery bills to the mayor for compensation. Put the taxpayers’ money to good use.”

The laugh he got from Barry in response was richer and deeper this time. “You have no _idea_! I spend so much money on groceries! It’s insane! Maybe I should start crowd-funding my bills?”

“Way too much work, but I suppose you could call it the ‘Flash Food Drive’?”

“That’s got a nice ring to it, but what about the ‘Feed the Flash’ campaign?”

“Hmm, or give it a community feel, ‘Central City Feeds the Flash’?”

They swapped names back and forth, ambling partway up the block with no true direction. It was dark outside but well lit from the businesses and streetlights surrounding them, the air feeling just a bit chill through his sweater. He glanced over to Barry and wanted to smile, feeling some sense of… understanding there. It was dangerous territory, thin ice, like everything with the other man seemed to be. His eyes trailed up Barry’s face to his green eyes, and the other was watching him watch him.

He arched an eyebrow, as it to say ‘what of it?’ and the other’s hand landed on his arm. It was warm through the sweater, and he had to suppress a shiver at the contrast with the cool air. But then Barry was glancing from side to side, and leading Len toward the opening of an alleyway. He stopped a few feet into the alley and turned to face Len, a determined set to his jaw on an otherwise nervous expression. “I…”

Len almost took pity on him, opened his mouth to ask, but then Barry mumbled, “Fuck it” and crashed their mouths together. Oh. Well okay, he could get with that program. He gathered the lean frame up in his arms while Barry’s own were snaking around his neck, and relished in the delight that was the other man’s mouth and tongue. It was quickly starting to feel like a repeat of the previous night, his hands finding their way to Barry’s hips, wanting to curl under that green sweater and slide along his skin. This time though, he pulled back before Barry had the chance to, more than a little smug that the other’s mouth followed his as he pulled away.

“I thought you didn’t go in for this, too cheap for your sensibilities?” Not that Len was complaining, but he needed to know how much he was going to get before letting himself get carried away again.

“I…” the other looked away but didn’t pull back, his expression a combination of frustration and embarrassment, eyes bright. “I don’t, not… look, I _like_ you, Len, and I trust you right now more than most people in my life, because whatever you are, at least I know who you are. So… maybe it’s not ‘cheap’? Maybe it’s…” he trailed off and looked down, scowling at Len’s chest.

Something. Maybe it’s something. That’s what Barry was trying, and failing, to say. Len dragged in a breath and felt his face tense up. Barry trusted him because he was a naïve kid, and because he must really need someone to cling to right now. As for his side of things, Len wasn’t the type to lie and lead someone on, pretend they could make something of this, but he definitely didn’t want to let go of the thin frame, warm under his palms, not yet. He looked down at the space between their bodies.

“I make no promises, Barry, about what this is and is not. You’re intelligent enough to realize that there is nothing… conventional, or even convenient, about our mutual attraction.”

He felt the other tremble just a touch under his fingers, and then wrap his arms firmer around Len’s shoulders, pulling his head back enough to catch Len’s gaze. “Can I just ask—do you even _like_ me? Or is this just… physical, for you?”

He couldn’t even think of the last time someone had asked him something like that. Almost every association in his line of work was physical, transient, a way to scratch an itch. And he had never had trouble finding a series of willing bodies, men at clubs and bars, pretty and vulgar, all of whom wanted the same as he did. Barry wasn’t like those men—he _wanted_ Barry, not just as a warm body, but this man in particular—his anger, his power, his recklessness, his idiotic naïve bravery, his body, his laughter. It was never going to work, of course, but he could thoughtfully drawl the words, “it would be a lie to say my attraction is purely physical.”

And that, apparently, was actually the right thing to say. Barry looked up at him smiled, like somehow just that was enough, and whispered, “Okay” before he was kissing Len again. He could feel Barry’s smile on his lips, something about it drawing at the corners of his own mouth, and it was surprisingly hard to kiss while they were both smiling. So he tightened his grip and pulled the other forward, distilling the air between their bodies into nothing, biting the other’s bottom lip until the kiss turned eager, hungry. Not sure exactly what ‘okay’ meant to Barry, he decided to test his luck, letting his hands roam over the other’s back and then down and over that demin-clad pert ass, gripping it in both hands and pulling Barry’s hips flush into his own. He was rewarded with a light groan from Barry, who canted his hips up, slid his hands forward to grip Len’s shirt and keep them close. Len felt like he might spontaneously combust when Barry pulled back again, and even dodged Len’s attempt to capture his ear and nibble on it.

“Yes, Barry?” he bit back his sigh, hands still comfortably squeezing that obscene ass until Barry told him to stop.

“Look, I just… I mean why don’t we… this isn’t really the best place for this.”

Well that was an interesting statement. What exactly was ‘this’ in Barry’s perspective, and where would be a better place?

“So where do you suggest?”

He had a half-second to register the look of a light bulb going off before he felt the sudden whoosh of being picked up by the Flash, and could register a blur of colors and sounds for the seconds he was moving before he felt his feet on solid ground again. He didn’t think he would ever get used to that lurching feeling.

“Where are…” his voiced died off as he looked around at the warm wood interior, couch, picture frames, solid cherry wood door. “Your house?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I looked back to my chapter 1 notes and it’s like “I promise to keep it short” hahahahhaha. What a lie, man. This is not short, and that was just some blatant and willful self-deception on my part. 
> 
> On a happy note, I finally figured out what they’re planning to do in their fight with Deadline, which has been a big “?” in my draft outline, so I’m pretty excited. You guys are gonna’ love it.
> 
> Also, this is a double update. The next chapter is... well, you'll see.
> 
>    
> ps - I spent a bit less time than usual editing this chapter, so if there's typos and whatnot, I'll try to fix them on my next read-through, but I was eager to post it :)
> 
> pps - I made an allusion here, with the line "Lesser Evils" which is the name of a lovely ColdFlash fic set in the comic-verse, one that helped get me into this pairing :)


	11. I couldn’t want you harder if I tried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is... basically just sex. (consider yourself warned)

Did Barry even realize he had just breezed through the whole ‘my place or yours’ conversation or was he not there yet? Some of his curiosity must have registered on his face because suddenly Barry was saying, “Oh don’t worry—Joe won’t be home for hours, he’s got the night shift today.” Good to know, but not what he was thinking.

“And now that we’re here, handsome, what exactly were you planning?”

Ah, and of course Barry suddenly looked embarrassed, maybe at Len’s casual compliments, or maybe because he hadn’t put his thoughts into words. “Well, I—I mean if you’re interested—am I moving too fast? Like should I not have brought you here? Because if you’re not cool with this then we can slow down and I’ll—”

He arched an eyebrow and stalked closer to Barry, who responded in kind and stepped back, until Len was pressing him against a wall, the other’s shoulder knocking against a picture frame and half dislodging it. “Barry Allen,” he ran his hands up the others’ smooth front, dragging over the cotton of his sweater and feeling taut muscle underneath, “did you bring me here to seduce me?” He may have put on his most devious expression while asking it.

He started to answer as Len leaned in to kiss his neck, and his words came out distracted and stuttered, “I, I mean if that’s… if, _ah_ , we, _hmmm.._.”

Len chuckled against his throat, enjoying the way Barry’s body was arching up into his. He ran his hands down the lean man’s sides, gripping his waist and then his hips before circling back and sliding his cool fingers under the irredeemable sweater, tugging the fabric upward as his hands explored—back, ribs, front, chest, nipples. The younger groaned again and it sent the tension pooling in his navel straight down. He sucked a bruise to the sensitive flesh of Barry’s neck, pleased when the other man’s head dropped back and away, giving Len full access, gasping. He was _so_ responsive. He explored each side of the neck, kissing and sucking, knowing the bruises he left would heal too quickly, that he would just have to keep replacing them, keep marking Barry. The thought egged him on, possessive, and he nosed his way up along Barry’s jaw until his breath was ghosting past his ear.

“You were saying?” Len pushed forward with his hips, sliding a thigh between Barry’s so he could grind his growing erection into a jean-clad hip. The other stuttered out “Wh—oh, right,” and swallowed while Len leaned his head back to look at him. He looked flushed, with a hint of nerves, and goddamn beautiful. “Seducing—yeah I think you’ve got us covered.”

Good to know he was on board. Before he could start to babble, Len silenced him with a kiss, hard and deep, something to get his blood pumping. Half a second later he was rewarded by Barry winding his arms around Len’s shoulders and waist, pulling him in, pushing his own hips up to meet Len’s. There was no hesitation in his movements now and god, it was everything he’d been waiting for—electric, strong, foolish, fierce. His hands were still on Barry’s chest, thumbs rubbing circles over sensitive nipples in time with the half-aborted thrusts Barry’s hips were trying to make against his leg. He smirked into the kiss and slid his hands up, taking the shirt with them until he had to break the kiss to pull it over Barry’s head. He’d seen it before, but it was thrilling nonetheless—the pale expanse of muscled chest, shoulders, abdomen, all laid bare for his greedy eyes and hands. He couldn’t help but grin, and his eyes flicked back up to catch Barry’s gaze. The shirt dropped and his hands smoothed over the exposed flesh, delighting in the way it made Barry shiver, the way it made him press his hips up again into Len’s thigh, impatient and eager.

“We should probably take this upstairs.”

Barry stilled under him. Had he gone too far, too quick? But then the other man was nodding, exhaling, and Len’s heart resumed beating after its skipped beat.

“Right, yeah, ah, that’s a good—” his voice was so raw already.

“Lead the way.”

He stepped back and Barry just smirked, confident mischief, and Len had no warning before he felt his body jerk and was, in a blink, standing in a bedroom at the top of the stairs, light suddenly on from a lamp in the corner, and Barry sliding up behind him in a blink, arms circling around his waist, kissing his neck and shoulder. He would have liked a second to look around, but Barry was kind of distracting. So he turned and kissed the other deeply, more gently, slower, pulling him in and trying to erase any space between their bodies, so that they were touching head to toe and it still didn’t feel like enough. He maneuvered the other man around and back as they kissed, until he could feel Barry hit up against the side of his bed. With a slight push from Len, he gracelessly tumbled back into it, catching himself on his elbows.

Len wasn’t one to wax poetic too often, but he _was_ one to indulge. And Barry, Barry was something in which he desperately wanted to indulge. He looked like temptation—tousled hair, red swollen lips (god, those lips were a sin), eyes darker than they ought to be with blown pupils, soft skin illuminated in the dim light, looking almost angelic except for the altogether wicked crook to his leer when he looked up at Leonard. It made his blood boil; he wanted to _devour_ the cheeky man playing with fire.

As it was, he leaned over Barry’s frame and recaptured his lips, biting and pulling his lower lip until the other gasped. He then pulled away to finally strip off his own shirts, pleased with how Barry leaned up to follow, ran his hands up Len’s smooth stomach and chest, up to his neck to pull him down for a kiss. Oh yes, the Flash _would_ be a demanding lover, wouldn’t he? Len could already imagine how insatiable the younger man must be, how eager and wanton and thirsty for more. Thirsty for him.

With that thought, his lips returned to the beautiful exposed throat—bruises from before already healing—then skipped down to his shoulders, sucking, biting, and kissing. He’d been waiting for this—to feel that smooth skin again as he explored each exposed inch, so much warmer than his cold hands. How responsive and sensitive Barry was, gasping and shuddering against him as he kissed and stroked the man’s chest, finding which parts made him gasp, how much pressure he liked, all while guiding him to lean back so that Len could stretch over him, legs tangled. He could feel Barry’s erection pressing up against his hip and ground his own down, wanting to be rid of the last frustrating strips of cotton and denim between them.

“Len—Leonard,” Barry gasped, and oh how delicious it sounded. He paused in his creation of yet another love bite on the brunet’s clavicle to lean up and look down into his grey-green eyes, dark with lust. “Yes, Barry?”

“We—ah, _mmm,_ your hands are distracting,” Len chuckled but didn’t stop rubbing small circles into the other’s hips, “—we should probably grab the lube, and a condom.”

 _Fuck_ , Len almost audibly groaned. He hadn’t truly figured the younger man would open his breathless body to him so fully, and had expected they would be finding other, less penetrative means of reaching orgasm. Truth be told, he was a bit surprised that Barry would jump so readily to this, but maybe he was just as starved for it as Len himself.

“Where?” he could hardly manage more words than that, throat dry, and lined up the next roll of his hips to connect both of their erections. He was rewarded with seeing Barry’s eyes close and his held tilt back as he let out a shallow groan.

“Top—top drawer, dresser,” breathless.

Leonard looked over his shoulder and spotted it, half dismayed it meant leaving the bed and Barry’s inviting body behind to stand, half eager to get to it and continue where this was headed.

“Pants—off,” he directed as he stood, taking quick strides to the dresser and locating what he needed within it. Barry’s pants were gone by the time he turned around, and Len was fairly certain he’d cheated and used his speed, but wasn’t about to complain if it meant he was greeted with the sight of a mostly naked Barry Allen leaning back on a set of plush pillows, tented briefs drawing his eye.

“Your turn,” Barry grinned, though Len suspected it was at least in part bluster, as the man looked slightly nervous now that his senses weren’t on total overload from roaming hands and kisses. He wasn’t one to coddle though, so he just smirked and teased “Someone’s eager,” before stripping out of his boots and pants, arching an eyebrow at Barry before he returned to join the other on the bed, depositing the items beside him.

Len sat on Barry’s left with his right hand across the other’s waist and planted on the mattress, partway perpendicular and leaning into other’s space. He didn’t miss that Barry swallowed hard when he approached for a kiss, so he slowed at the last second and used the fingers of his left hand to tilt up the younger man’s chin, looking at him through lidded eyes with their lips scant millimeters apart.

“We won’t do anything you don’t want to do, Barry,” his lips brushed against the velvety red ones that attracted so much of his attention, “But you ought to know, I am _dying_ to fuck you, dying to have you open up for me, if you’re up for it.”

He could feel Barry thrumming with electricity next to him, pretty sure he saw his hand vibrate out of the corner of his eye, but Len focused on looking at the other’s eyes. His voice was hoarse when he replied, “Yes, fuck I—I want that.”

It was all the invitation Len needed. He captured those lips in the kiss he’d been holding back, pleased when Barry returned it eagerly. Nervous or not, the other wasn’t uncertain of his desires. “If that’s the case, we won’t be needing these,” he was pulling at the elastic of Barry's briefs while he moved to suck on the other's earlobe. He felt, rather than saw, Barry gasp and nod, and then the lean man was stretching and pulling off the last scrap of fabric that covered him. It was a sight to behold; it made Len's mouth water.

He followed suit after taking the moment to enjoy the view, and didn’t miss that Barry’s face was more flushed than it had been moments before. He had the courtesy _not_ to ask how long it had been since the younger man had done this. Instead, Len took the opportunity to manhandle him into a more convenient position, grasping the outside of each of his thighs and pulling them apart enough for Len to fit between them, before returning to soothing kisses. Not surprisingly, now that he could feel each of the hard planes of Barry’s bared skin from lips to legs, the other man was all muscle and tightly coiled strength. Their bodies moved against one another for as long as he could stand it before he reached between them and enveloped Barry’s cock in his hand. The brunet broke their kiss to gasp and then titled his head back to moan—so sensitive—while Leonard circled the head with his thumb, feeling the weeping slit at the tip. Barry was cut where Leonard was not, something that always made for a bit of extra fun since it was so different from his own. He ran his hand down the shaft a few times experimentally before Barry said, “Might—ah, want to get on with the next part. It’s been a while since— _ah_ —and I don’t really want to embarrass myself.”

Len tried to hide his amusement—no doubt failed—and thought about the joys of being so young. He also thought about the joys of being the Flash. “What’s your refractory period like, with your metabolism speed?” He had just barely resisted calling Barry “kid” that time.

“I—ah—faster, definitely faster, but I— _fuuuuck_.”

That was all Len needed to know. He slid his body down and licked a long stipe along the underside of Barry’s cock. The man swore and moaned so pretty, and while he wouldn’t last long to be sure, he would definitely be enjoying this orgasm. Len's lips and mouth sucked the other down and he smirked when he noticed how Barry clenched his hands into the sheets, fingers vibrating. God that could be interesting. He made sure to use his tongue and his hand, gripping the base while teasing and circling around the head, before sucking down to the back of his throat, taking some pity and increasing his speed. Barry’s hips gave stunted thrusts as he obviously tried to keep himself in check, and Len used his free hand to grip the other’s hip and hold him down, which only seemed to make him moan harder.

“That’s— _fuck_ , Len, I’m gonna—” Len sped up and Barry threw his head back, letting out a long, low moan as he came, quaking. Leonard was more than happy to swallow before sitting back on his knees to survey the debauchery he’d made of the Flash. It was a heady sensation to relish how he’d reduced the most powerful man he knew to a moaning, over-stimulated bundle of nerves and pleasure. And now Len was going to fuck him.

While Barry spent a moment enjoying the afterglow of his orgasm, sending a dopey smile up to Leonard, Len wasted no time, lubing up a few digits and pulling up Barry’s relaxed legs into a better position. He was already more than eager himself, his own aching cock untouched. He could be patient though, and knew exactly what he wanted. He reached his slick fingers to tease at Barry’s tight, no-doubt sensitive entrance.

“Still up for this?”

“Oh yeah,” and he did seem eager, stretching his legs further and tilting his hips to provide Len with better access. _Divine_.

He slid one finger inside and watched Barry’s face, his eyes flickering closed and his lips curling up into a indulgent smile. Pleased with how relaxed the other was, a second finger soon followed and he got to enjoy watching that devious mouth gasp instead, a light flush adorning his cheeks. Len smirked—god the kid was _beautiful_. When he finally pushed in a third finger—trying to be patient but that was fraying—Barry’s eyes opened again, half-lidded and steeped with pleasure. Len looked down and was greeted with the sight of the brunet’s thick and full erection.

“You really weren’t kidding about that refractory period.”

“Nope,” the other was rolling his hips now, grinding down on Len’s fingers. It made him groan and he couldn’t wait to be inside that. It also meant Barry was probably ready, so he pulled back and enjoyed the ever-so-slight whine that Barry released as he did.

“Ready for this, handsome?”

“Oh god yes,” Barry's eagerness was a compliment that Len would happily take.

He was already rolling the condom down his shaft when Barry reached forward and pulled back his own legs with a hand curled under each hamstring. Of course the Flash would be limber, he thought with a grin, before taking one of those legs himself to maneuver them to the right angle. Slowly, methodically, Len pushed into Barry’s body, almost excruciatingly slow to make sure he wouldn’t hurt the other, inch by inch, breathing stuttered, until he was fully seated up to the hilt in that tight heat. Fuck, it was worth the wait.

He gasped and then groaned when Barry didn’t wait for him to move but instead rolled his hips. Cheeky little fucker. Len grasped his hips in each hand and set the pace, first gently and then realizing he really didn’t need to go easy on the smaller man, kicking it up faster, building almost immediately to a punishing pace. He was rewarded with Barry reaching up to dig his fingers into Len’s back, the space between them vanishing as they pulled each other closer, Len thrusting and Barry pushing up to meet each one. It felt so fucking good. He latched on to Barry’s mouth and thrust his tongue in, tongue-fucking him in time with the snap of his hips. Barry moaned like a whore and he loved it.

He reached a hand into the soft, sweaty strands of brown hair and _pulled,_ Barry’s head snapping back to expose the long line of his neck. Len he couldn't help himself, he sucked another, new dark bruise onto the left side. Barry moaned and writhed and “Fuck, Len, _fuck—more_ — _ah_!” Good god the kid would be the death of him. He took all Len could give and begged for more. He bit into the soft flesh and felt the speeding pulse beneath his lips, too fast. He heard Barry’s litany of “fuck” and “more” between gasps, and felt the hands on his back begin vibrate. Oh _fuck_ that was hot. He was on the brink of coming but decided that he wanted—needed—to feel the younger man come while Len was inside of him, to feel the unadulterated pleasure of pushing Barry over the edge. He relinquished his hold on Barry’s head to reach between their bodies and pull long, fast strokes on the other’s cock. Barry was almost crying in pleasure.

“Fuck you’re beautiful,” it came out rough and raw; he would have whispered it but didn’t have that much control left over his voice, which was next to Barry’s ear. “Want to see you come for me, Barry. Want to watch you come undone.”

It didn’t take much after that, Barry’s muscles all tightened around him, legs and arms pulling Len in with a devastating strength, whole body vibrating, quaking, arching up in a silent scream, clenching and quivering around Len’s cock as it slammed deep inside him. The sudden, intense vibration was more than enough to push Len over the edge, barely holding onto to Barry’s hip and still-pulsing cock as his own hips stuttered a staccato of thrusts deep inside the other, white behind his eyes and groaning until he was spent.

It took a few minutes to come back down to planet Earth, after that.

He let himself half collapse over Barry, catching his breath and letting their sweat mingle as their chests heaved. He actually chuckled, thinking that _this_ was the most physical exertion he’d ever actually spent on the Flash, and it was not at all how he would have guessed. When he could muster the strength, he gripped the base of the condom and slowly pulled out of Barry, the other releasing a soft, contented noise as he did. The kid looked spent. Len found a trash can across the room to toss the condom in. Then he swung his body to the other half of the queen-sized bed and stared blearily up at the ceiling, eyelids growing heavy in his satiated state.

“Mmmm,” was apparently all Barry could say.

“You said it,” he mumbled back, heart rate slowing to resting.

He was momentarily startled when Barry rolled over, into his space, and promptly used his arm as a pillow, pulling a blanket over their legs. Apparently the speedster liked to cuddle in the afterglow, and really, Len’s limbs were too heavy for him to complain, it was well passed midnight by this point. The dim light from the lamp in the corner wasn’t bright enough to bother him, it was far too comfortable in the bed to consider moving for the time being, and— _yawn_ —the Flash was warm and cozy once he snuggled in, so…really…what could the harm be in— _yawn—_ just taking a quick…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fans self* haha but really, that was smutty.
> 
> Some things you might notice: Len is possessive. The man isn’t quite at the point of saying “mine, mine, all mine,” but the way he can’t help but always say Barry’s name, or some nickname (kid, scarlet, handsome, whatever), is a testament to that, not to mention how much he likes to leave territorial bites and bruises, even if they’ll fade (too quickly). Also, you can probably tell, but I imagine Barry is quite sensitive, in part because he hasn’t someone touch him like this in a long time (b/c I imagine Linda was a lot more hesitant to jump into bed after the first rebuff, and Barry’s conscience meant he didn’t push at all).
> 
> Also, for anyone who thinks this is sudden, or a big jump for Barry, I promise I've considered his perspective in light of his characterization and the events leading up to this. There'll be more on that later, but keep in mind that he's a totally reckless guy who hasn't had sex in... a really long time (at least in this fic). Between his sexual frustration, growing attraction and feelings for Len, and basic lack of self-preservation, he just kind of... goes for it. Barry isn't good at half-measures.
> 
> Now, wonder what’s in store next for the boys? Hint, it’s sadly not a nice round of morning sex.


	12. Willful self-deception is so much easier when people don’t point out how you feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe West is not impressed

One of the few blessings about working nightshift was the lack of traffic on the way home. When everyone was commuting to work, Joe was enjoying the sunrise on his way home from an exhausting evening, ready to get some shuteye.

He was daydreaming of heating up some leftovers and watching an hour of mind-numbing TV before collapsing into his warm bed, mind trying to drift away from the Scudder case—which at this point was mostly turning up that the man had skipped town for the time being—when something brought him back to reality. He stopped just inside his entranceway. What had set off his internal alarm bells? After more than a decade on the force, he trusted his instincts when the little hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight.

Step 1: retrace your steps. He looked over his shoulder at the car in the driveway, up the steps to the door and—there. His hand on the handle. It hadn’t been locked. Had it just slipped Barry’s mind?

Step 2: examine your surroundings. He stepped inside and looked around. Dried mud on the ground, no shoes or boots in sight for it to belong to. Definitely a boot print, and he was no forensic investigator, but it looked bigger than Barry’s shoe size, and either way he hadn’t seen his son wear boots in ages. Then he noticed a green garment, picked it up—Barry’s sweater. He did not like where this was going, heart rate increasing, muscles tensing. He looked up and didn’t even need to see that a picture frame was knocked half off, dangling sideways, to know that something was up.

Step 3: evaluate the evidence. Something had happened to Barry.

Step 4: plan. Step 5: act. Joe may have combined the last two steps, pulling his gun out of its holster, quietly closing the door behind him. Was it Wells? He cased the living room and was headed to the kitchen when he noticed mud on the stairs. Upstairs it was, then. Maybe Barry had just got home hurt, sped himself around the front entry as he changed on the way in? It didn’t explain the boot print though.

He tried to keep his breathing quiet, felt like he was stalking a criminal in his own home, stepping carefully where he knew the old wood floorboards didn’t creak. Halfway up the steps, he could see that the door to Barry’s room was cracked open. That never happened when the youngster was asleep, so unless he’d been so distracted he hadn’t even noticed… Joe grimaced and prepared for the worst. Maybe there'd be no sight of Barry, or just a wounded Barry—he couldn’t think beyond that. Anything else was too much.

Steeling himself, he snuck up the last few steps and toward the cracked door, gun ready. Taking one last breath, he gently eased it open, just enough to look inside but no more, knowing it would creak. What he saw stopped him cold.

Barry—his son Barry, the _Flash_ Barry—was laying in bed, safe, unhurt, _comfortably_ asleep and half on top of...  _Leonard Snart?!_  They were both quite obviously naked, a scrap of blanket covering—thank whatever god or gods were up there—their groins and thighs, but not much else, and even Barry’s ass was half-exposed. Their clothes were in piles along the ground, the lamp was still on, the air smelled like sex. Joe was going to faint. No, he was going to get the hell back downstairs and figure out what alternate universe he had just stepped into.

And when he was downstairs, if he just happened to take a shot of Johnny Walker Black Label to steady his nerves, well, no one could fault him for that.

 

*********

 

Len woke up slowly, warm and comfortable, someone pressed to his side radiating heat, a soft blanket covering half of him. His brain was fuzzy, far from online, slowly coming around to the sound of breathing, someone exhaling in their sleep with soft little hums like a kitten. There was enough light in the room that he imagined that’s what was waking him up, light behind his eyelids, but he was so comfortable that all he wanted to do was roll over and curl around the body next to him. He turned his head to face whoever it was, hair tickling his nose, and blinked his bleary eyes open to look down at a messy mop of brown hair, and then the face attached to it.

Oh.

Thoughts of the prior night flooded back in as he suddenly felt much more awake.

 _Oh_.

Well that, that had been… something. But he’d stayed the night, and that wasn’t something he really did, especially when the house he was staying in belonged to one of CCPD’s finest. As nice as it would be to linger in bed, repeat the night before, he should probably sneak off before anyone noticed, and before Barry was up. He wasn’t exactly one for awkward morning afters.

Slowly, carefully as he could so as to not wake Barry, Len extricated himself from the other’s embrace, sliding to the end of the bed and then off of it, relieved that he didn’t have a footboard to climb over. To his amazement, Barry didn’t so much as stir, even when Len gathered up his clothes and dressed. It was a small blessing that he’d left the cold gun behind with his parka—much less noisy this way.

He took a last look at the angel sleeping on the bed, soft skin highlighted by the morning sun, stretched out and relaxed. It was a little surreal, if he was being honest. But he didn’t let himself dwell, and carefully snuck out the bedroom door, relatching it and creeping down the first flight of stairs after checking around the corner for Detective West. He couldn't hear anything, so he slipped silently down the second flight (around the bend) and was just at the bottom, about to check around that corner when he heard—

“Going somewhere?”

Fuck. It was a small curse that he’d left the cold gun behind with his parka.

He took a deep breath, stood to his full height, and dropped onto the last step. Detective West was still just one man. One man who was leaning against the entrance to what appeared to be a kitchen (he hadn’t had time to look around the night before), his gun holstered to his side, barely contained anger seeping out of an attempt at a cool and nonchalant façade.

Len put on his best smirk, “Let me guess—you’re going to ask me about my intentions with your son and then threaten to shoot me?”

“Thinkin’ about it,” he didn’t seem to be kidding.

“Let’s skip all that then, shall we? Because I really don’t think I'm going to be too fazed,” he kept his voice frosty.

Detective West took a menacing step in his direction him, angry and fierce. He could imagine how many criminals—and suitors, and combinations thereof—had wilted under his fury before. Luckily, Len had had enough experience dealing with angry men in his lifetime. Still, he was apprehensive, if not ready to give ground.

“How _exactly_ did you think this was gonna’ go down, Snart? You come into my house and”—he exhaled like the next word was being forced from him—“seduce my son, and you think I won’t have an issue with it? Or that I suddenly won’t drag your sorry ass off to jail where it belongs?”

Len turned so that he was facing West straight on, legs shoulder width, arms clasped in front of him. He titled his head and narrowed his eyes, “You do know what happens to Barry’s secret identity if you try that, don’t you Detective?”

The darker man’s eyes widened, not in surprise but anger. He actually took a step at Len and raised a finger like he was admonishing him, “You _dare_?” His voice was low, maybe so as to not wake Barry, but thick with controlled fury. “If you hurt him, I swear to God, Snart, the ends of the Earth would not be far enough, there would be no cave deep enough for you to hide in—I would find you, and I would _end_ you.”

It was a credit to Detective West that Len took him seriously, believed he meant every word. His hackles raised and his back tensed, his own anger coming to the surface, “And how exactly do _you_ think that’s going to go down, West?” if his voice was condescending, so be it, “What—am I just going to roll over and strangle Barry in his sleep? Rough him around, see what happens? What do you think you need to protect him from here—the big bad Captain Cold?”

“Revealing his identity would hurt him plenty enough, Snart.”

“Well 'The Flash' can handle himself, West.”

“Well 'The Flash' is my _son_ , Snart, and he’s a good man. He likes to believe the best in people, so he doesn’t see that a man like you,” he said that word like it was venom, “is the type who would toy with him, play with his emotions while you throw him in front of this damned Deadline freakshow and convince him to do God knows what else.”

Ah, so West thought Len was manipulating Barry. Come to think of it, it probably would be easy, but—“What do you think my angle is here, Detective? Think I’m going to suddenly convince the Flash to join my merry band of Rogues? We both know Barry’s not the type.”

“I don’t know what your game is but I do know that Captain Cold doesn’t just waltz into the Flash’s bedroom for no reason.”

He scoffed, some of his calm and confidence returning now that he was fairly sure West wasn’t actually going to attempt to arrest him. “Oh no, there were _reasons_ , mostly having to do with his—”

“I do _not_ want to hear it, Snart, really don’t want'to hear it.”

He leaned back a little, almost ready to laugh, “You know he’s an adult, right? Old enough to make his own choices.”

“And _you_ know that adult or not, you’re too old to be going after someone like him, right?”

He gave a half-tilted nod of acknowledgment, not exactly remorseful about the more than ten year age difference. West took that moment to take a step back, run his hands over his non-existent hair like it was an old habit, but he wasn’t actively threatening Len anymore so he relaxed his stance by fraction as well.

“Look, Snart, I’ve only got one thing left to say before you get the hell out of my house…” Joe spent a long minute appraising Leonard, taking in his face, and mostly his eyes, presumably trying to decode whatever secrets he thought Len was hiding there. “If this thing with Barry is something, something other than blowing off steam, or more than just Cold and the Flash testing new limits that I don’t want to know about… if he means anything to you, now or ever, then get the hell out of Barry’s life, and stay out.”

“Isn’t that backwards, Detective, I stay out of his life if I _don’t_ ca—”

“You heard me, Snart. I don’t believe for a second you’d care about my opinion if you don’t care about Barry, and if you do care, you’ll get that the last thing he needs is a killer like you draggin’ him down.”

They stood there for a moment longer, silence heavy, before Len arched his eyebrow and was out the door.

 

**********

 

Leonard Snart was a cocky little shit and Joe was seething for at least an hour after he was gone. He had to stop himself three times from going upstairs and waking Barry up to confront him, but knew he needed to clear his head before he saw his son. He tried to figure out what he was going to say, what questions he was going to ask, what warnings he was going to give. Nothing seemed right in his head, discomfort churning deep in his stomach.

Barry’s little alliance with Snart made so much more sense from this perspective—not just teaming up with him, but the way his face changed whenever Snart came up in a conversation, the little story about the safe house (and didn’t that bring up more questions in light of this new information), the calling him “Len”—for God’s sake, “ _Len_ ”—and checking out his folder at the CCPD. The folder that was sitting in Joe’s bag, who’d noticed the younger had forgotten it on his desk the day before, who’d figured that Barry could read it and bring it back to the station in a blink.

He shook his head to clear it. Barry and Snart, Barry and Leonard, Allen and Snart, Flash and Cold. But that wasn’t right, was it? Because it was Barry, Barry who was good and light and well, not pure, but genuine. Barry who _cared_. And Snart, who was an unflinching killer, who had international acclaim as a thief, who was more than a little obsessed with the Flash, and who, Joe wouldn’t be surprised, would be more than happy to use a crush from Barry as a means to manipulate him, take down the Flash or get something out of him. It set Joe’s teeth on edge.

He didn’t have nearly enough time to prepare before he heard the shower upstairs turn on. He gathered himself and started making pancakes, because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that Barry would be hungry. He dutifully didn’t think of why, or how much energy Barry would have spent the night before.

Too soon later, he could hear Barry’s casual stomps down the stairs. He waited until the brunet was all the way into the kitchen, dressed for work and voice bright and cheery with a “Hi, Joe!” before he turned and let Barry see his expression, stormy. The other’s face fell.

“So when were you gonna’ tell me that this thing with Snart is more _personal_ than just a meta-human case?”

“Oh my—Joe, you, how did you—”

“I got home hours ago, your door was open and you boys were cuddled up—”

“You _saw us_? Wait—you saw _Len_? Did you talk to him—Joe did you arrest him?!”

Barry’s panic was a little over the top for Joe’s taste. “No, Barry, I did not arrest him. I did, however, get to have a nice little chat with him on his way out.”

Barry groaned and dragged his hands through his hair, looking anywhere but at Joe.

“Care to explain what the hell made you think it was a good idea to bring a criminal into my house, sleep with him under my roof, and lie to me about it?” if his voice was booming by the end of the sentence, it was only because he’d been bottling it up for the entire morning.

“It’s not like that! It’s not like he was here to steal anything, Joe—we were just, just—”

“Like you were ‘just’ gonna’ keep lyin’ to me about it, huh Barr? You told me twice that things between you and Snart were nothing, not even friendship, and now—”

“Because I knew that you’d be angry!”

“You’re damn right I’m angry!” he slammed his fist onto the counter and then took a deep, steadying breath. He could smell burnt bacon, swore and stalked to the stove to shut off the burner. It gave him a second to gather his thoughts and calm down before he turned back to Barry. When he did, he saw the petulant jut to his chin, stubborn, digging his heels in for a fight, but also the red around his eyes. Just like Barry to infuriate him and also make him want to reach out in sympathy and take away all ails—a parent’s constant dilemma, really, the multiple ways to protect one’s child.

“Barry… I’m angry because Snart is dangerous, he’s a criminal and a killer, and not only do I _not want him in my house_ , but I don’t want him near _you_. No matter how you slice it, he’s a manipulative son of a bitch who’s goin’ t’find some way to hold this over you or use it against you.”

“Joe, I—”

“Let me finish,” it came out too harsh, so he softened it. “Please, Barr, let me finish. Snart is the modern version of a criminal mastermind—cold, calculating, he’s tried to kill you more than once, and he’ll do it again. I know you might think it’s all fun and games right now, but whatever you think Snart is up to, I can promise—”

“Is it so hard to believe that he might actually just _like_ me, or be attracted to me?”

“What? No—of course not. The issue is not _you_ , it’s him! He’s a manipulative—”

“You don’t get it, Joe,” Barry stepped forward, arms dropping and spreading open, beseeching, “You just see Len here and you think that Captain Cold has me wrapped around his little finger but it’s not like that! He comforted me when I was crying about Wells and my mom. He hugged me and then he kissed me and I felt for the first time like I was _safe_! He doesn’t ask for anything, nothing I don’t want to give, but he still pushes me, challenges me, and I…I trust him, I know I shouldn’t but I do, more than almost anyone right now. And he knows it! And all he does with that information is let me whisk him back here and…” Barry’s voice got quieter, but blood started to hammer in Joe’s ears, connecting dots, not about sex (that much was obvious), but about… but then Barry continued, “…and I don’t have to lie when I’m around him, Joe. He knows I’m the Flash, and he knows I’m Barry, and he even knows about Wells, now! And he’s never lied to me—not _once_ —and I just… it’s…”

“Barry…” he stepped forward, speaking gently, almost like one would to a small, spooked animal. “When did you find the time to fall in _love_ with Leonard Snart?”

It was plastered on the kid’s face, pouring out through his voice, visible in every line of his body. He’d seen Barry with crushes and he’d seen Barry in love (with Iris) and Joe knew the difference, and this was something: this was how Barry fought and looked and how his face crumpled when he was in love but didn't think there was anything he could do about it. And Joe, well he would have thought that there was no way to fall in love that fast, not truly, not something that wasn’t just infatuation, but then he remembered that it was Barry, who was so much _faster_ than everyone else, and maybe this was no exception. He knew that Snart could still screw it up, do something irredeemable that would make Barry hate him, but the way it was looking was that he had situated himself into Barry’s heart, taken up residence and built a house. It would take something truly heinous to dislodge that, and it was most likely that Barry was going to spend every future encounter with Captain Cold hoping Len would change, would love him back. But people don’t change, and Joe knew that, and so his heart, in that moment, broke for his son.

“I…” Barry’s hands were shaking, not at superspeed, just at regular Barry-is-upset speed. “I…” he started again, but seemed to have no way to finish the sentence. Joe cursed himself for bringing it up, but Barry’s lack of an answer was more than an answer. This changed everything.

“Oh Barry,” in two strides he was at his son’s side, wrapping him up into a tight embrace.

Joe West was a realist at heart and the reality of the world scared him most days. More often than not, it made him afraid that the intense brightness of both his kids might someday dim by the tarnish of the world. He never knew how to stop that from happening, so he tried so hard to wrap them up and keep them safe. He knew he shouldn’t try to protect them from everything, couldn’t, not really, but in a world overrun by mad scientists, meta-humans, and murderers, he no longer knew what else to do. At times like this, though, he was reminded that something they would always need, something he could always provide, was his love and support. So he wrapped Barry into his arms just like he did when Barry was a young, scared kid, woken up by another nightmare. Joe couldn’t protect him from anything the world was going to throw his way, never really could in the first place, but he could damn well make sure Barry knew he was loved by the people in his life, whether or not one of those people was Leonard Snart.

He could feel the exact moment that Barry let go and broke over from a single line of tension into the scared kid Joe would always remember him being. Barry’s tension melted away into a shudder trying to hold back tears when he returned the hug, and Joe could just barely hear him choke out “Joe, what am I doing?”

He’d sort of always thought that Iris would be the one to bring home bad-boys, but at the same time, he wasn’t surprised that it was Barry he had to worry about. These kids were turning him grey. “What you always do, son, you’re seeing the best in someone.”

Barry barked out a laugh and untangled himself from Joe’s arms, surreptitiously wiping his eyes on his sleeve. His expression was crooked, off, voice that sardonic bite he only gets when he was self-deprecating, “Like I saw the best in Dr. Wells?”

“Barry… you are an honest-to-God good person—there is so much light in you. The fact that you see the good in people—in Wells, in Snart, in anyone—it’s a gift, son, it truly is.” Barry opened his mouth to interject but Joe kept going, “These people’s decisions, past, present, and future, will define _them_. But your capacity to care about people in spite of that, that is what makes you _you_ , Barry Allen.”

The young man looked so downtrodden, his arms wrapping around himself. “How can I be in love with Len when I’m already in love with Iris? I mean, that hasn’t changed, and I just…I know what Len is. What does it say about me if I _am_ in love with him?”

Joe took the opportunity to pull out some plates and grab the pancakes out of the oven where they were keeping warm. The bacon was a mess but he knew Barry could care less so long as it was food, most days. As he dolled out food, he tried to honestly consider his son’s questions.

“Look,” he finally said, turning around to lean against the counter and face the young man, who hadn’t moved. “I don’t know that I have an answer for you here, Barr. What I do know is that it’s possible, more than possible, to love more than one person at a time, to love them in the same and different ways.” He also knew that being in love with more than one person was mostly an invitation for pain, but he didn’t need to say that out loud. He had to see his daughter struggle with that reality pretty much everyday, even though she couldn’t admit it to herself, and he really didn’t want his son to be in the same pain. “Loving two people doesn’t say anything about you except that you have a great capacity for love. As for it being Sn—Leonard…”

He felt nervous for what he was about to say, and took a minute to bring plates over to the table, motioning for Barry to sit. His son looked apprehensive but leaned in, ready to hear whatever Joe had to say. He tried to organize his thoughts, but they came out jumbled anyway. “As for Leonard… I am not saying anything excuses what he’s done, or that I trust him, but I will say that no one person is irredeemable, not even Captain Cold. And Snart’s had a tough life, but if he decides to change—not sayin’ it’s gonna’ happen—but if he does make that decision, I guess I don't believe that it's too late for anyone…” even if he didn’t want just 'anyone' around his kids. Unfortunately, this much, at least, was not something he got to decide.

Barry’s eyes took on a new quality, some of his old flame, hope—the same damn hope he always had for his father, for the impossible. Joe’s heart ached for his son. “I don't want to give you any false hope here, Barr, I really don’t. I know that people, most people, don’t ever really change. But let’s just say I don’t blame you for wanting to see that change, if it’s possible.”

“So you don’t think I'm crazy for… however I feel about him, about someone like him?”

Finally, Joe leaned back, gave the young man one last appraising glance, and said what he knew was going to be the nail in some coffin somewhere. But it was the truth, and maybe it really was what Barry needed to hear. “Son, I don’t think for one second that you could ever fall in love with someone who’s truly evil, or truly a cold-blooded psychopath. Because you _can_ see the best in others, but only if there’s some good in them to see, Barry.”

Joe almost breathed a sigh of relief when Barry gave him a small smile, a whispered thanks.

“Now c’mon—there are cold pancakes to eat and you’re already late for work!”

Because really, that’s all that needed to be said about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say “poor Barry” but then also “poor Len” and actually, “poor Joe” as well. No one is winning in this chapter (see: tag number one).
> 
> But actually, I mentioned before I hate a love/hate thing with Joe West, and I hope that comes through here. I’ve tried to paint a somewhat complex portrait of this man who has bottled up anger from too many years looking at crime scenes, is obviously high strung and a bit paranoid, but who has all this tenderness and warmth when he drops that anger. He’s someone who would do anything to defend his kids, but also knows (because he’s a smart man) that most of the time the things that will hurt them will be things he can never protect them from, no matter how he tries (and he does try). He worries that "Snart" is a manipulator more than he worries and he's not unjustified, but he also is ready to drop his (visible) anger over concern for Barry's feelings instead, at least for the present.
> 
> Also, next chapter we will FINALLY get back to Barry's perspective. It's been interesting, walking through everyone's head but his while still also trying to convey what _is_ going on in Barry's mind, as seen through the lens of others.
> 
> Aaaaand, if anyone wants to visit me at coldtomyflash.tumblr.com and chat about ColdFlash, Barry, Len, or the Flash in general, feel free :3


	13. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to play with your food?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len drops by STAR Labs for an (un)expected visit

Barry was out canvassing the city in his Flash suit the next night, stopping a few petty crimes, attempted mugging, car theft, dropping criminals off outside the CCPD and rushing off. Mostly, it was small fries, and he was trying not to be distracted, not to let his distraction show over the comms, at the very least. It was hard to stay focused, though, the conversation with Joe swimming through his head, phantom feeling of Len’s fingers still dancing on his skin whenever his mind wandered. And it was phantom, the bruises mostly all healed by morning, the pleasant ache in his lower back still there when he awoke, but all but gone even by the time he got to work, as though even his body wanted to erase the evidence of his mischief.

The accompanying confusion of his feelings after talking to Joe only made it too easy to tune out those thoughts and focus instead on imagining those phantoms sensations instead of everything else, remembering the feel of Len’s mouth around his cock, sucking and bringing him to a mind-blowing orgasm before starting with his fingers, stretching him, pushing into his prostrate until Barry was hard again and practically begging for more. The sex had been rough, too much of a stretch too fast, but his body was craving it, wanting Len to go faster, thrusting back, reveling in Len’s angry bites while he fucked into Barry. Remembering it so vividly meant that he’d had to sneak away from work once or twice that day to relieve his own tension, fingers inside himself as he tried to mimic the feel of Len inside him, but it still hadn’t seemed to make any difference, he was still distracted while running around the city even now.

Part of him wished Len had still been in bed when he’d woken up that morning. He had figured the other snuck out during the night—Barry was a _deep_ sleeper since the lightning struck, his increased metabolism taking its toll on his system by turning him into someone who could sleep through a bomb, especially if he hadn’t eaten as much as usual in a given day. That he needed fewer hours of sleep was a blessing, but the hours he did sleep he was dead to the world. Part of him had been temporarily relieved that morning because Len being gone _should_ have meant Joe wouldn’t have seen the other. But if Joe was going to see them anyway, it would have been a lot nicer to wake up next to Len and get to actually enjoy his morning.

Nothing for it now though, he shelved the thoughts as Cisco asked him to head back to STAR Labs. “What’s up, Cisco?” he turned toward the lab but waited to shoot off so he could talk, because super-speed and conversation didn’t go hand in hand too well unless he was focusing.

“Just wanted you back here so we could talk details for tonight, man.”

"Tonight—what’s tonight?”

Cisco’s voice was layered in the confusion that meant Barry was missing something obvious. “Measurements, man, for the plan?”

“Measure— _what_? Do you mean that L—that Snart is—”

“Coming here? Yeah—should be on his way now. Did I forget to mention that?”

Apparently, he had. Barry whipped right back to the lab, dropping to a normal speed as soon as Cisco came into his sight.

“Yeah, Cisco, you might have missed mentioning that part of the plan.”

“Barry!” Caitlin sprung up from her seat, “Do you think he’ll have Mick Rory with him, and should we hide the flammables?”

If Rory was coming they should probably just hide everything, Barry thought, still a touch bitter over what happened at Joey Santini’s. “Len won’t want to be here without some back-up… what time is he coming?”

“In about… five minutes?” that was Cisco, and Barry’s eyes widened.

“Why didn’t you call me back sooner?!”

“I dunno’, man—it didn't seem like a big deal, you’re the one who wants to work with the guy!”

He sighed and rubbed his temples. “That doesn’t mean we want him at STAR Labs, Cisco!” The other winced and Barry wondered if he was being a jerk. “Look, I just didn’t realize you’d actually need his measurements for the plan—how convincing do we have to be, really? I mean can’t he just use—”

“Nuh uh, don’t even say it. My craftsmanship will not allow him to stretch your suit with his freaky broad shoulders. And the last thing you want is Deadline to see through the disguise.”

He was right, of course—this plan relied on some subtle subterfuge. “And when did you and him decide he’s coming here to get his _measurements_ taken?”

“Barry—” Caitlin cut in at the same time Cisco started to tell Barry that he’d chatted with Lisa, and _what_ , but Caitlin kept talking, “Rory or no Rory, I want to know if I should—”

The security system tripped and they all crowded around the screen that showed the entranceway: Len, in his signature parka, alone. Well that was interesting; a thrill went down his spine at the sight of the other, looking up and smirking into the obvious security camera, giving it a little wave that was mostly just a mocking roll of the fingers. It had been less than 24 hours since those fingers were _doing_ things to him. He swallowed, trying not to let Caitlin or Cisco see any flush to his cheeks.

“Guess that answers that,” muttered Cisco—was he disappointed about Lisa not being there, and what exactly was going on there? Barry never got a chance to ask though, as Dr. Wells rolled into the room as if summoned by the security bell. Cisco was using the intercom to direct Len toward their room in the cortex.

“I take it that Mr. Snart has finally arrived?”

Oh great, so even he knew. Barry really wished Cisco had said something sooner, because he really, really had not wanted Wells and Len in the same room. Which Len knew, or kind of knew. The little shit, no wonder he’d gotten Lisa and Cisco to plan instead of running the idea through Barry. It there was anyone Barry should be frustrated with, he was pretty sure he knew who it was.

“Yeah, looks like it,” he waved vaguely to the screen and avoided looking at Wells, taking off his cowl instead. No point in hiding his face from just Len. And part of him, though he was trying to crush it now that he was annoyed, wanted to see the other again, without masks and costumes and false caricature-like acts in the way.

Wells—who Barry was too aware of whenever they were in the same room together now—was looking at the screen apprehensively and mumbled, as if mostly to himself, “Mutual enemies do make for some strange bedfellows.”

He almost jumped out of his skin at the mention of bedfellows, a startled, “Wha—” out of his mouth before he remembered that it was just an idiom. “Well, it, ah,” he tried to cover, “could be worse. We could be working with Rathaway.” He tried to laugh. Wells just looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Again, I mean, because Cisco—right.” He gesticulated before letting his arms drop, defeated by himself. Lovely, this meeting was awful already and it hadn’t even started yet.

“Well, well,” Barry whipped around at the sound of a familiar deliberate voice, “The gang’s all here. Cute setup.” He swaggered into the room and peered around, seemingly casual but eyes scanning every detail, alert. The air in the room got tighter, seemed to drop a few degrees as he did, with Cisco, Caitlin, and Barry all tensing where they stood. Wells, unaffected as ever, wheeled forward.

“Welcome to STAR Labs, Mr. Snart. I’m Harrison Wells. I’m very pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”

He stopped a few feet from Len and Barry watched as the twp men sized each other up. “Likewise, Doctor.” And then Len was arching an eyebrow at Barry, communicating so much in the single glance. Cisco took that moment to hop up, holding a clipboard with a pen behind his ear, his usual mix of excitement and genius causing him to be clumsy and knock over some pens, effectively spoiling most of the tension in the room, and in Barry. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Cisco, always a pleasure. And Dr. Snow,” Len inclined his head in her direction. She didn’t return the greeting. “Someone's _frosty_.”

“Mr. Snart,” Wells rolled his chair so it was between Caitlin and Len, despite the fact that they were half a room away. Barry groaned internally and wished he could separate the two. “With all due respect, we are happy to assist you in the capture of the mercenary Deadline, but please recall—you are a guest in STAR Labs and you will treat the people here with respect.”

 _Please don’t say anything stupid, please don’t say anything st_ —

“Of course, Doctor. I hold the staff here in the highest esteem, and I’m grateful for the… _assistance_.”

Barry was pretty sure there was a double-entendre in there somewhere. He was going to murder Len the next chance he got. He turned back to Barry.

“Now then, shall we?”

Thank god. Barry almost sighed aloud that _that_ little altercation was done with. “Uh, yeah—hey Cisco, which room—”

“Right, follow me, guys.”

Barry was about to follow when he heard—

“Mr. Allen, a word?”

He didn’t bother to hide the exasperation on his face when he turned around to face Wells, casting a glance over his shoulder. “I’ll be right there.” Cisco just looked between the two of them then back to Len, a bit more nervous now. Len’s eyes were on Wells before he was forced to turn and follow Cisco. Barry waited until they were out of the room and he could hear their retreating footsteps before rounding on Wells.

“Is there a reason you want to leave Cisco alone with the guy who kidnapped him last time they were in the same place together?”

“Last time they were in the same place together was yesterday, at the train yard, and I don’t recall anyone getting abducted.”

“You know what I mean—”

“I do, but this will only take a minute, and Caitlin can monitor on security to see if Mr. Snart attempts anything. Cisco can handle himself for that long, I’m certain.”

Barry still felt mutinous but he conceded the point and followed Wells into the side room, away from Caitlin. He waited for Wells to turn and face him, crossing his arms.

“Barry, I would like to know if Mr. Snart has ever—or does ever—attempt to contact you, outside of simply searching for this meta-human.”

Oh shit. Wells was way too perceptive. Barry told himself there was no way the man could know about him and Len. "Wh—uh, why would he do that—I mean, you know about all the contact we’ve had so far,” he gestured widely to indicate… something. Honesty, maybe? He immediately brought his arm back in and scratched the back of his head, trying to appear innocent and not irritated. “Why would he try to contact me?”

“Because you are the _Flash_ , Barry, and he has shown himself to be plenty willing to exploit whatever openings and weaknesses he can find in the past.”

Barry was reminded of the train incident and it left a sour taste in his mouth. “I don’t think caring about others is a weakness, Dr. Wells.”

“That’s not what I meant, Barry,” now it was Wells who looked exasperated, “Mr. Snart has exploited not only your better nature, but also that of Cisco and others, and I would _caution_ you—”

“There’s nothing to caution, Dr. Wells,” he told himself to play nice, to bring the snap out of his voice, “But thank you. And I’ll let you know if he tries to… get on my good side. But, on that note, I’d better go see how Cisco is doing.”

“Yes, thank you, Barry. I’m sure he would appreciate your presence.” He lifted an arm toward the door and Barry needed no further prompting, whipping out of there and down to where he heard Cisco’s voice in one of the old med rooms. He was pretty sure it was the room they used to keep him in when he was in a coma—which, weird.

And Barry knew, of course—but hadn’t really thought about—what he’d see when he zoomed into the room. Len was standing there in only an undershirt and his tight briefs, arms straight out from his sides, other clothes pilled on a table. His bad mood evaporated, throat suddenly dry, and he stopped just inside the door to the room, a bit unsure where to look. Cisco had a measuring tape assessing the length of Len's left arm, scratching down notes on his clipboard before noticing Barry.

“Hey man, ‘bout time,” Cisco's voice was still too tense.

“Uh, hey?” Barry stood fully and tried to appear nonchalant, not like his eyes were raking every exposed inch of flesh on Len’s body, long legs and muscled torso under that white shirt, thick arms. When Cisco looked over his notes to see what was next, Len caught Barry’s eye and smirked. He knew exactly what was on Barry’s mind.

“It’s all good man,” Cisco went on, pulling up the tape to wrap it around Len’s chest, muttering sorry to the man as he got into his space. The fact that he didn’t make some snappy ‘all up in this business’ line told Barry that Cisco really was uncomfortable, and reminded him that he wasn’t here to ogle Len.

He stepped closer, “do you need any help? I could take measurements and you could write stuff down?” A selfless offer, truly.

He actually saw Len bite his lip to stop from laughing before schooling his expression when Cisco stepped back. “Would you, man? This’ll go way faster.”

Barry found himself also trying not to laugh when he accepted the tape measure from Cisco—it was a such a minor, silly thing to feel like he was getting away with something sneaky here, but the amusement dancing in Len's eyes was infectious and it had been a long time since he’d had even this sort of stupid fun. He felt it lifting his mood even more, and if he got to slide his hands around Len while they shared this private joke, even better.  

“If your STAR Labs crew ever leaves the crime-fighting game, do consider opening a tailoring shop. The attention to detail you put into a suit for a ruse alone would put half this city’s tailors out of business.”

“Yeah, yeah, Cold, I’m sure you’d love to see us retire,” Cisco clearly hadn’t gotten Len’s sense of humor, quite yet. Barry could tell it was a weird, Len-like compliment.

“What’s next?” he asked, to distract Cisco—and himself, because standing close and staring at a mostly-naked Len and thinking about his stupid sense of humor was going to be a problem soon. He was supposed to be annoyed at Len for orchestrating this whole thing, not turned on and giggly, dammit.

“Shoulders.”

Perfect, he sauntered around Len to measure the width of his shoulders, taking a second to ghost his fingers along the strong muscles since Cisco wouldn’t be able to see from here, and teasing Len was probably the only revenge he was going to get out of the other being in STAR Labs. It was a shame they weren’t alone though, because Len’s ass had never looked better and more deserving of a quick feel. Instead, he shook himself and called out a number, and from there Cisco continued directing him around—hips, outer seam, inseam.

And wasn’t _that_ fun, kneeling in front of Leonard, sliding the tape up from the inside of his foot to his groin, face level with a particular part of Len with which he’d been _well_ acquainted the night before. He could feel heat sliding up his collar and into his cheeks, expression daring Len to say something. But of course the other man managed to stay impassive, calm and cool. He swallowed hard and looked anywhere but at Len when he stood and stepped away.

“Aaaand, that’s everything,” Cisco seemed more relaxed, which made one of them at least. “One fake suit, comin’ up.”

“Excellent,” Len stretched and marched to his pile of clothes, starting with his pants. “When can you have it ready by? We’ve leaked that our next hit is going to be an artifact from a touring exhibition on it’s way to Central City Museum next Thursday.” He grabbed his outer shirt and Barry mentally said goodbye to his arms, then watched him holster the cold gun as Cisco replied.

“Have a little faith, man, I’ll have it ready in forty-eight hours. It’s a good thing we took the measurements though, there’s no way you’d fit into Barry’s suit, the shoulders alone—”

“ _Thanks_ , Cisco.”

“Hey man, I’m not sayin’ it’s a _bad_ thing! You’ve got a runner’s build, y’know, lanky and—” he made some gesture in Barry’s direction that was probably meant to be placating. Barry just rolled his eyes—runner’s build indeed. Len was pulling on his parka. Did the man really need to wear that indoors?

“If we’re all done here, kids, I do have other matters to attend to.”

“I’ll see you out,” Barry replied, a little too eager judging from the confused look Cisco gave him. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost—STAR Labs is a big place.”

“Of course, Barry. Hate for me to go poking around, is what you mean, but I can understand your concern,” his voice was just a little condescending, the inflection precise. “After you,” he stepped aside to follow Barry, and bade goodnight to Cisco. Then they were off, the long corridors of the lab stretching in front of them.

“Well, that was fun.”

Len’s voice sounded more relaxed now, out of Cisco's earshot and around a corner, so Barry sent a withering look in his direction and subtly tried to nod up at the security cameras along the corridor. Len’s eyes darted up and Barry knew he got it.

“If by ‘fun’ you mean way too much work to catch a single meta-human who was only out for _you_ and your friends to start with.”

“Now, Flash,” Len played along, “I thought you and your do-gooders live for these things? Don’t tell me you aren’t enjoying these little adventures?”

Was that another double-entendre? Or was Barry just projecting? “ _Enjoying_ is one way to put it. Might enjoy it more if you didn’t suddenly show up at STAR Labs unexpectedly.”

“Cisco _was_ expecting me.”

“You know what I mean.”

Len chuckled, “And what, Barry, miss my opportunity to visit your little crew? Not a chance.”

And then they were at the entrance to the building, the cold night air refreshing.

Barry found himself wishing the walk was longer, or that he could hold onto the moment with Len for just another minute. As the thought manifested, so did a sudden fit of nebulous nerves in his stomach, remembering Joe’s words from that morning, the ones he’d been avoiding thinking about all day—about his feelings for Len, about where this might all be headed. Checking out his ass was one thing, even sex was one thing, but wanting to spend time in his company, contemplating his humor, sharing private jokes, communicating with double-meanings and facial expressions, that was all another. And where it was headed...

He swallowed, wishing he knew something clever to say. A glance into Len’s crystal blue eyes showed him the barest hint of some of the same hesitation there, unless he really _was_ just projecting. His heart sped up; he knew the camera was behind him, nothing could see his face. It was dangerous if Wells was watching, but he didn’t want to leave the moment like that, so he mouthed the words “call me” before he could think better of it, and turned back into the building without waiting for a reply.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I’ve seen episode 20, my perception of Wells has shifted a bit. The man knows _so much more_ than he lets on. Also, he is one creepy ass motherfucker. I hope all the Barrison shippers out there are incorporating some of that into their fics because damn, Wells, you take stalking to the next level. 
> 
> But I digress…
> 
> Sorry this took so long! I just finished moving to a new apartment (yay!!!) so that’s been taking up most of my time (moving is exhausting) and I won’t even have internet at this place until Wednesday ☹ On the plus side, since this took so long, it’s a double-update! Again, as with most of my double updates, the next chapter is ¾ smut. Enjoy ;)
> 
> (ps - I'm totally sorry-not-sorry about the Killer Frost easter egg, for those of you who caught it)


	14. Did you redecorate?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len’s reasons for feeding Barry are entirely selfish

After checking back with Cisco and Caitlin to see that everything was all good, he told them he was gonna’ do a final canvas of the city before heading home for the night and sped off before Wells could corner him for another chat. Only a minute after he shot out of STAR Labs like a bullet, a red blur of yellow lightning, his phone started to ring in his bag. It always sounded distorted and so slow when he was running, but he’d learned to recognize the sound. He slowed to read Len’s number on the screen, which he’d memorized the sight of but still hadn’t put into his contacts. He turned off the mic on the suit before answering.

 “That was fast.”

 “So are you—I just saw you blur past, Barry. You do realize that you’re not exactly subtle with that lightning trail?”

 He found himself laughing. It wasn’t really a ‘ha-ha’ joke, but something about Len’s teasing felt more amicable now than it had just a few days ago. Maybe it was just hearing the other’s voice that had him smiling. Dammit, he was totally screwed.

 “Well it’s a good thing I’m not exactly trying to hide then, isn’t it? And you’re definitely the king of subtlety, ‘Captain Cold’. You really had to go for the innuendo earlier, didn’t you?”

 The accompanying chuckle he got from Len made something in his stomach swoop. Yep, totally screwed. Iris would be proud of his flirting skills if she could see him right now. Or maybe not, considering who he was flirting with.

 “Glad you picked up on it. I hope you know that when I said earlier that I had matters to attend to this evening, those matters involve you.”

 “Oh— _Oh_. Ah, should I come meet you, somewhere? Pretty sure my place is off limits for the foreseeable future.”

 “I gathered,” his voice was dry. Barry cringed and wondered (for about the millionth time that day) what Joe had said to Len that morning and what Len was thinking about it.

 “Right, about that…”

 “Save it, come meet me.” He rattled off a location and Barry was there in seconds, maybe too eager but he was pretty sure they were past playing hard to get. He flipped off the GPS on his suit as he ran, and maybe shouldn’t have been surprised when he turned up outside a familiar building—Len’s safe house, the one he’d been to after the pier incident.

 “Good to see you, Scarlet.” Len called from… he looked up. Len was on the roof.

 He sped up the fire escape to join him. “What’re you doing up here?” He pulled his cowl down.

 Instead of answering, the other man just pointed to STAR Labs, of which he had a clear view. No wonder he could see Barry speeding out of there.

 “Wow, that’s some view,” he walked to stand near the other man. From here, though the building was shorter than many surrounding it, there was a view of the lab and also, off the other side of the building, of the pier—in between other buildings and structures, at least. The sun had just set and the sky was pink in the twilight.

 “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” he smiled, remembering the times he was out on a boat as a child. It felt like ages ago.

 “Mmm, but it was just as red this morning—sailor’s warning, correct?”

 “You got to see it on your way home? The sunrise?”

 Len finally looked over at him, turning just his head, eyes slowly scaling Barry from head to toe—not lascivious (though maybe a bit), just focused, precise.

 “From your room, actually, it was already up by the time I managed to get out of there.”

 “Can I ask—”

 “Don’t bother. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep but it doesn’t matter. Detective West didn’t say anything that concerns me.”

 Barry wished he could say the same. He wanted to know, suddenly, not what Joe said, but about where Len sat—what he was thinking and feeling, whether Barry was just being a fool, whether his feelings were one-sided. But after getting an acknowledgement of this being not-nothing (whatever that really meant) the night before, he didn’t want to push, knew he could come on too strong and didn't want to scare Len away. But Len saved him from saying anything by continuing:

 “I’ll admit I am a bit surprised though, that whatever he said didn’t deter _you_ from joining me here this evening?”

 “Me? Oh,” he laughed, “I’m used to Joe being angry. I wasn’t exactly an easy kid to raise… I don't think he was even that surprised once he wrapped his head around it. Probably just figured it wouldn't be me if I wasn’t giving him more grey hair.”

 Len made an _mmm_ noise in response, but he seemed pleased at least, and turned toward the door that led inside.

 “Though speaking of grey hair—” Barry followed and suddenly remembered his frustration from earlier, “What the hell were you thinking going through _Lisa and Cisco_ to come to STAR Labs?”

 Len didn’t answer until they were inside his apartment. Barry realized, somewhat belatedly, that he was still in his Flash suit with the cowl down again, and was probably lucky this building was in such a sketchy neighborhood that no one was poking their heads out in the hallway when he and Len stomped past.

 “I was thinking, Barry,” he doffed the parka and cold gun in the corner and was wandering into the kitchenette, “That you wouldn’t want me near there and I had some questions I wanted to answer.”

 “Questions?” Barry caught the sudden box of cookies and a few other assorted food items being tossed his way, as well as a beer. Had Len went _grocery_ _shopping_ for this place?

 “Eat.”

 He followed through to the table, eyes straying over to the single bed where Len had first kissed him. It seemed like a million years ago but was in actuality very, very recent.

 “You’re feeding me now?”

 “I’ve seen how much you can pack away,” Len clinked his own beer against the one in Barry’s hand and smirked. Barry scowled but took a drink. “And besides, I’ve been feeding you for a while now, in case you hadn’t realized.”

 He had, actually—the night they were here with the box of crackers, the food at the diner, and now this. The only thing he hadn’t done was bring Barry coffee, and that was because he’d been too busy lording coffee over Barry the time they met near Jitters. All the more reason to eat the food being offered now, so he tucked into the beef jerky.

 “Are you some mother hen in disguise?”

 Len actually laughed. “Consider it me keeping you in tip top shape. I plan to wear you out later, after all.”

 Barry flushed and took a long pull of his beer. He was looking forward to that, probably too much. But before that—

 “Before that, while I'm still eating you out of house and home,” he dropped the empty package for emphasis and grabbed a cookie, lightning quick. He could see Len try to track the movement with his eyes. “Are you going to tell me what answers you were looking for at STAR Labs?”

 “I’m sure you can guess, Barry—mostly I was curious about Harrison Wells.”

 Was Len trying to distract him? He was leaning back in his seat and spread his legs just a bit wider when he said that. If he was trying, he was succeeding, but Barry could be dogged when he needed to.

 “Oh yeah? Find out anything in the whole two minutes you saw him?”

 “As a matter of fact I did.”

 Barry set down his beer, the food forgotten. “Oh?”

 “In just one hundred and thirty seven seconds, I discovered that Harrison Wells does not scare easy; that he is particularly protective of his employees, especially Dr. Snow; that he speaks in double meanings and expects other people to be grateful for his presence;” he ticked them off on his fingers, “that he’s probably a psychopath and he is definitely an excellent manipulator; and that he calls you ‘Mr. Allen’ to maintain a sense of authority over you. For the record, Barry, it works—you defer to him when he’s around.”

 “Wow. Uh, that is a lot to figure out in two minutes, yeah.”

 It took a minute to digest that information, because yeah it was all (probably) true, but Len had learned all that in a snippet of a conversation? He was only starting to realize just how observant the other man really was, in that case.

 “You see why I wanted to drop by?”

 He sighed and stood up, agitated, satiated stomach meaning he was buzzing with energy again. He paced a line in the small room and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I do, but… _why_? What does Harrison Wells even have to do with you, Len? And why couldn’t you have at least given me a heads up?”

 Len stood too, dropping his empty beer to the table. “I wouldn’t want you planning how to act if you knew, Barry. There’s something to be said for how you act when you’re not expecting something,” he smirked and arched and eyebrow and Barry resisted rolling his eyes, feeling warmer under the collar than he’d like to admit from the expression.

 “And why Wells?”

 “You really need to ask, Scarlet?”

 “Apparently I do.”

 Len took a step closer, squaring off with him and Barry uncrossed his arms, letting his pose be challenging. “Because you’re more afraid of a man stuck in a wheelchair having a weapon that can hurt you than you are of giving it to a gallery of Rogues, Barry. You can’t blame me for being curious.”

 Okay, that was just—

 “And I wanted to see what kind of man could kill your mother and still keep you by his side every evening of the week.”

 Barry’s eyes widened, reminded of Len’s comment from the diner, about him and Wells, and how Len’s voice just darkened. Was he… could it be possible he was _jealous_?

“And you were wrong, Barry—he doesn’t think of you like a mouse to his cat.”

 “Oh?”

 Len took a step closer, eyes taking on a predatory glean, darkening. Barry felt a frission of electricity go through him. “No, he looks at you like you’re a choice cut of steak he’s decided how to best cut into. Like you’re Little Red and he’s the Big Bad wolf, waiting until he can sink in his teeth.”

 The last word was crisp and sharp, and Barry swallowed, not sure if he should be aroused because of the dark, low rasp to Len’s voice, or disturbed because he was talking about Dr. Wells.

 “Is that so?" his voice wavered a lot more than he would like, "Well, I don’t exactly intend to be his next meal, in this metaphor or any other, so—”

 Len took another step and he was in Barry’s space, his words vanishing with the air between them, Len’s hands suddenly on his waist, pulling him forward, voice low.

 “No, Little Red, you’re _mine_ instead.”

 With that, Len pulled him in and kissed him in the filthiest way, connecting their bodies into a single long line, tongue licking into his mouth like he owned it, like he wanted Barry to taste him for days. Part of him wanted to protest the sheer audacity but most of him was arching up into it, encouraging, kissing back, wanting what he’d been thinking about for every second since he’d woken up alone in bed that morning, what he’d snuck away from his desk at work to masturbate about, what his skin had erased but his mind hadn’t. God, he wanted Len so badly.

 He gripped those thick arms through the long shirt Len wore and groaned when the other man bit his lip. Then Len was walking him forward until his back hit a wall and he felt a thigh pressing his legs apart; they went willingly and he rolled his hips up in return. Len found the zip on his costume so he grasped the other’s shirts in his gloved fingers and pulled them overhead, both of them breaking the kiss in the sudden impatience to undress, hands too fast, breathing heavy, mostly hard already. He could feel Len against his hip, knew Len could feel him too. Then hands were on him, cold and sure, making Barry shiver as they pushed back his tripolymer suit, peeling it away from his shoulders, leaving it halfway down his arms and partially trapping them at his sides while Len licked and bit up his neck. He writhed against the body pressing him into the wall, embarrassingly needy keening noises escaping him. His neck was far, far too sensitive, and after last night Len definitely knew it.

 “Fuck, Scarlet,” Len growled against his neck after sucking a bruise that was going to turn purple, he just knew it. “Wish these marks would stick.”

 Barry blew out a breath, trying not to letting out any whining noises with it, control over his vocal cords tenuous at present. “Goddamn you are _possessive_.”

 Len’s hands were working away at the zipper of his costume’s pants, Barry pressing his hips up as he could feel them over sliding the hard bulge there. Teeth gently nipped his jaw, “Complaining?”

 His lips were on the other side of Barry’s neck, breath ghosting over the sensitive, saliva-slicked flesh when he spoke. Barry shivered again, “ _No_.” And he wasn’t, his whole body responding to the way that Len refused to treat him like glass, pushed and pulled him like he was just as impatient for it as Barry, like he knew Barry was solid and powerful and wouldn’t break, like he knew a bit of roughness was just what Barry needed, licked and bit like Barry was something to _claim_ and declare for the world to see.

 Len responded with an _mmm_ noise and then his hand was slipping under the elastic waistband of his underwear and grasping Barry. He was pretty sure he let out a strangled version of Len’s name that sounded more like a gasp but he really couldn’t care. He stripped his hands out of the constricting sleeves and gloves of his suit, needing to feel something under his fingers, reaching for the smooth panes of Len’s back before sliding around to his abs, sliding over the tight muscles and then lower, over the hardness in the other’s pants.

 “Can I?” his voice was raw to his own ears, desperate, Len’s slow and smooth strokes up his cock too distracting but he wanted more, wanted to feel the other man in his hands, against him.

 “Anything you want, handsome.” Why did Len only call him that when they were about to have sex? Len was the handsome one. But that didn't matter right now, not when he was sliding down the other’s zip, pulling down tight briefs. His cock was thick and heavy in Barry’s hand, flushed and full, and he tugged at it experimentally, hand mimicking Len’s strokes on his own length, adjusting for the foreskin that he himself didn’t have. Len’s breath grew ragged near Barry’s ear and he grinned just a bit before the other did _something_ with his wrist that made Barry gasp. He quickly pulled his hand back as everything started to vibrate, desire and nerves mixing up a cocktail in his bloodstream.

 “Barry,” Len’s forehead dropped to his shoulder, eyes probably tracking Barry’s vibrating hand. He swallowed and Len continued, “Get that hand back on me, _now_.”

 “It’s—I can’t really control—”

 “Please,” and sounded cocksure but also, Barry noted with a hint of triumph, just a bit needy.

 “Okay, just…ah, maybe grab some lube so there’s no friction?” Len drew in a shaky breath near his ear that made him shiver, but the other man nodded and kicked out of his pants and shoes before stalking over to the bedside table and grabbing something from it. Barry watched his ass as he walked away—divine—and when Len returned with the bottle, slicked his palm with more than he would normally use for pretty much anything but this. Then he reached down to grasp Len’s swollen cock. He brushed his other hand against Len’s hip and then held onto it to ground himself, thumb pressing into the sensitive hollow there. He hesitated for another second until Len’s fingers landed on his hips and gave a little squeeze of encouragement, eyes focused on Barry’s hand. His hand started to drift along Len's cock in a slow, irreverent tease, then, finally, he let his hand vibrate.

 Len’s reaction was immediate and intoxicating—he swore loud and bit hard into Barry’s shoulder, almost hard enough to break skin. His hands grasped Barry’s hips hard, hard enough to bruise, teeth loosening as he let out heady bitten-off moans against the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Barry bit his own lip till it was bloody to keep control over the motion despite the little noises Len was making, fingers twirling over the tip every few strokes, noticing how the other gasped and shuddered each time he did. His hand probably wouldn't stop vibrating at this point even if he wanted it to, impossibly turned on by Len’s desire.

 Then the other man was leaning back, enough to watch Barry’s fingers slide up and down the hard cock, vibrating, “ _Fuck_ _that’s hot_.” The sound of his voice shot straight to Barry’s cock, which incidentally spurred along his vibrating hand, pulsing strokes up and down Len’s cock. He could tell the other man was getting close, breath coming in shorter gasps, and it made Barry feel impossibly powerful, how close the to the edge he could bring Len, so quickly, with something only _he_ could do.

 Then one of his cold hands slid up from Barry’s hip to splay over his abdomen and then up, over his sweat-slicked chest and onto his shoulder, pushing there and pulling on his opposite hip, stretching and arching Barry. The lean man let his body be maneuvered and manhandled, stretching out in front of Len but not loosening his grip and it clicked—Len wanted to come, and he wanted to come _on_ Barry. He inhaled sharp, the scent of sex and the smell of _Len_ and he leaned himself back, legs framing the other's thighs and pushing his shoulders against the wall, glancing up at Len. He whispered, throat raw, “ _do it_.”

 Len’s pupils blew wide before his eyes rolled back, fluttered close, his hands spasmed, cum shooting up between them, landing on the smooth skin of Barry’s taught abdomen. He groaned and shuddered as he came, teeth capturing his own lower lip as he fought to hold in the sound. The sound was enrapturing, Barry's cock twitching as he watched Len tremor out his aftershocks.

 Then he dropped his forehead back down onto Barry’s shoulder, breathing heavy. His own hands were limp by his sides now, done vibrating, and he passively breathed in the musky air around them, achingly hard.

 “Kid, that is one hell of a party trick.”

 He laughed, couldn’t help it. “You are such a shit, Leonard Snart.”

 He could almost feel Len’s smile. “And now it’s your turn.” He leaned back up and gave Barry a sloppy, wet kiss, imbued with lips and teeth and tongue, before he dropped to his knees and shot Barry a roguish grin. His pulse rate skipped up to an inhuman speed as Len’s tongue darted out, fingers gripping the base but not stroking. The fucker, he was going to tease Barry until he went insane all over again. He couldn’t help but think though, looking down at the proceedings, that it might be worth it if it meant seeing Len on his knees for longer, completely at ease and full of mischief and passion. Just the sight made his blood boil—well, that and the sinful things his mouth was doing, sucking down Barry’s length so slow it was cruel and so hot and smooth he might die. Len could probably suck the nails out of a board and look cool doing it.

 But Barry wanted— _needed—_ it fast, hard, like bruising hands on his body and bitten hickeys and an unforgiving pace. He needed that intensity to ground him, too much in his life was spinning out of control to let gentle in, to keep his own cool while Len teased whimpers and moans out of him, so he heard himself choke out the words, “Your fingers—I want-want them in me.”

 His eyes snapped shut in embarrassment, heat flooding his face. He also wished he had more control over his goddamn mouth when he was turned on, but his inability to keep from saying things like that had come years before his inability to stop vibrating when he was aroused.

 Len’s mouth pulled off of him with a satisfying pop, hand replacing it with lazy motions that were going to drive Barry insane. “You know, Scarlet, I do intend to go another round or two with you tonight, so you’ll have my fingers and then some in you before the night’s out. Sure you want to start so soon?”

 He was teasing, mostly using this as an excuse to blow cool air over the now-wet and sensitive skin of Barry’s cock, to kiss up the side of it and smirk. Fucker, fucker, fuck, _fuck_ that felt good.

 “I’m— _nnn_ —not known for my patience, Len, and I—”

 His wrist did that goddamn twisty thing and Barry’s eyes rolled back and his head dropped back onto the cool plaster of the wall behind him.

 “You were saying, Scarlet? Something about being impatient?”

 “I swear to God, Len, _justgetyourfingersinme before_ _I_ _explode_ ,” some of that came out at a frequency it wasn’t meant to—he didn’t care, because Len slicked two of his fingers in lube before his elbows were nudging Barry’s legs wider apart. Len’s mouth never left his cock and his own hands were digging into the wall behind him, trying to find purchase because his legs were going to start vibrating any second.

 He felt a cool wet pressure on his entrance and he whimpered in elation and anticipation. Len circled a finger around and around, teasing, adding just a bit of pressure, enough to make the ring of muscle contract, and then relaxing back, driving him _insane_. It went on and on, teasing, pressing just to pull away, a bit deeper each pass but never enough, on for what felt like eons, was probably barely minutes, teasing until his whole body, and _especially_ that part of his body, felt hyper-sensitized, wishing Len _would just fucking do it_.  From the sudden chuckle around his cock—another thing that made him gasp—he was pretty sure he’d said that last part out loud.

 Then it was pushing past the tight ring of muscle, any stretch from the night before gone and healed by his ridiculous body. It was quickly joined by Len’s other digit, deep enough until they found that sweet spot inside him that made stars shoot off behind his eyelids, everything too hot, too good all at once. His cock was still being sucked, harder and faster now, everything he needed, fingers thrusting against his prostate in time with the pulls on his cock.

 He swore and gasped and moaned, not sure of what he was even saying after that, senses distilled to the feel of Len’s lips around him, tongue swirling around the head of his cock and then being swallowed down again until his sensitive tip was at the back of Len’s throat; distilled to the feel of fingers inside him, the slight burn and stretch of a third finger turned to more pleasure as his adrenaline spiked. He rocked his hips back into the fingers, forward into the hot mouth, shouting. His whole body felt like a rocket going off, heat spreading outward, time dilating as everything vibrated, the orgasm overtaking him, stretching his perception, slow and fast all at once, white hot and so good, too good, nothing could possibly feel this— _fucking_ — _good_.

 The fact that Len swallowed was delicious and dirty, something heady in the thought that a part of Barry was inside the other man now, however temporary that may be. He caught his breath as his limbs returned to a normal speed, taking a half second to laugh because, hell, his pants weren’t even all the way off. He felt like a goddamn teenager again, hormones and nerves and impatience.

 “That was amazing.”

 Len was standing, smirking. “Seemed that way. Now, how about another beer, and then we see just how much that little bed in the corner can handle?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna’ lie, none of this chapter was not part of the original plan, but I promised in the tags that this whole thing would get pornographic and I’d hate not to deliver (not to mention it’s actually a lot of fun to write). Also, there have been so many comments about Len’s overall possessiveness that I wanted to write more of that, and having a bit of tension arise from Harrison/Eobard was a great way to showcase it. Did anyone actually think he’d listen to Joe West’s advice? Not likely, Len is too much of a shit for that—that just made him dig his heels in.
> 
> As a note on characterization—Barry responds positively to Len’s possessive streak in part because he’s spent so much of his time around people he’s attracted to but who don’t reciprocate, especially women who tend to fall for more classically masculine guys. I’m taking it for granted Barry isn’t especially used to people wanting to claim him as their own (romantically at least), and definitely not people as smart and attractive and dominant as Len, and he kind of revels in the attention. Also, being the scrawny kid meant people seeing him as weaker than he was, which is something Len has never done, and he appreciates that Len pushes him, gets a bit rough. With his adrenaline, I can only imagine he’d be into it. (I promise though, I’ve got future plans for more gentle sex between these two—right now things are all still a crash of energy and friction for them).
> 
> Next chapter, things kick up a notch on the intensity scale. We’re in the home stretch, only a few chapters left, btw. I won’t give a specific number because my writing always gets too long and out of hand, but yeah.
> 
>  
> 
> PS - I had a bit of a time crunch editing this chapter so I'll try to go back and fix typos/etc next time I get a chance :)


	15. It's goin' down, I'm yellin' tiiiimmbeerrrr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing ever goes according to plan

The house was burning down around him—literally.

The plan had been simple. The plan involved leaking word about a (fake) heist, subtly, like a trail of breadcrumbs for the Santini family to find and pass along to Deadline. Then, on the day and time of said heist, they would be ready to face off against the meta-human and his mafia friends with the details of the plan Len set out. They would be ostensibly holding up a moving target, the transport van for an artifact—as was his typical M.O.—which meant plenty of space and few bystanders around while they enacted their simple plan. Okay, so 'simple' might have been an overstatement; any plan involving a costume change and a weapon trade off meant dealing with more variables than he liked, ones that couldn't be timed, but with the Flash on hand that was slightly less of concern. What mattered was that it was a good, solid plan, with several contingencies arranged.

Of course, like all good plans, it was completely and utterly destroyed, and now they were fucked ten ways to Sunday.

Instead of waiting until Thursday, the day of the fake heist as planned, the Santini’s had apparently found the house that Len, Lisa, and Mick were holed up in a few days early, and were in the process of turning it into a single mass of bullet holes. Or were, until Mick had run to the back of the house where they were bursting in through the back door and started to light shit on fire, aiming vaguely in the Santini’s direction. Lisa had followed, so now the back half of the house was a flaming mess of bullets and gold splotches and Len was Not. Fucking. Impressed.

He heard a third (side) door, the one in the kitchen, crash open (another damn thing that was on fire) and three of Santini’s men burst through it a moment later. He froze the first two and was about to dodge behind a wall when the third raised his gun, but instead watched as the man was subsumed by an ugly gold splotch. Nice, he called his thanks to Lisa who marched into the room.

“Lenny, let’s go! I’m getting the hell out'f here!”

He growled, looking at the door and about to warn her to stop but then— _crrrsshhhkklllsssh_. The doorway caved in on top of the dead men, wood and fire and smoke. Lisa jumped back and yelled as he surged forward to pull her back, but she was just barely in the clear. He grabbed her arms from behind to steady her and she swore—startled—and dropped her gun.

“Do try to take better care of your toys, Sis.”

“Just can it and get me the hell out of this inferno, Len!” she grabbed it up and swung her hair into a tight bun and he noticed the ends looked singed. She must be _pissed_. He supposed telling her to cool it might push her over the edge right about now, better save that for later.

“Where’s Mick?”

“How the hell should I know?!”

Great. This is why Len liked a fucking plan. Four days ago he was getting his measurements taken at STAR Labs and everything was on track, enjoying a _rather_ nice evening with Barry, one it was still hard not to let his mind wander to too frequently. Three and two days ago he was making preparations for a fake heist, going over contingency plans, watching Barry deal with some lunatic bomb threats on the news, and then watching in disguise while Mick got drunk at one of their favorite bars and accidentally-on-purpose mentioned some details of the heist where prying ears would hear. Yesterday, he was casing Harrison Wells’ schedule (and what an interesting hobby _that_ was becoming). And today, today he was in a burning house with Lisa by his side and Mick nowhere to be found.

But better yet, where was Deadline? He hadn’t seen the hitman since the Santini’s pulled up out front, gave them one chance to surrender, and then started riddling the place full of bullets, forcing them to the back of the house. Deadline had been outside with them then, though Len could see how indoor structures weren’t his forte for fighting—lots of walls to slide through, but no clear line of sight to his target, and hand-to-hand would make him vulnerable if he wanted to land a shot, especially with multiple targets around. It should have given them the advantage, but then Mick went off and started burning shit, so now staying indoors was suicide. Going outside was also likely to end in death or dismemberment. Staying where he was crouching down with Lisa to avoid smoke inhalation wasn’t helping much either.

“We've got to get out of here!” he shouted so his voice would carry over the crackle of roasting wood, peering around the fridge to the front of the house—bullet riddled but the door was intact. The Santini’s were out front still but maybe they were waiting for something? He froze the door over for good measure.

“ _How_?!” Lisa clearly didn’t agree with his methods.

He motioned her toward the hall of the home—away from the smoke, fire, though probably not much safer in the grand scheme. The second story was out of the question unless they wanted to jump out a window, and even then the stairs might already be on fire. The basement was clearly idiotic.

He grabbed out his phone, hitting seven on his speed dial.

“Len—wha—are you making a _fucking phone call_?!”

He ignored her screech and she started to swear a blue streak. He didn’t care, so long as she kept covering his back as he made his way through to the bedroom at the front of the house. “We’ll hole up here, it’s not on fire yet. I’ll take the door, you get the wind—”

“Hello?”

“—ow. Flash, hi, a little help.” A round of bullets went through window and Lisa pulled away and ducked down. Good girl. He crouched by the door.

“Len—what—is that _gunfire_?!”

“Yes, and fire, a burning house to be precise. The Santini family is as impatient as you are.”

“For real, Len? Right now? Where the hell are you?”

He rolled off the address and shot a stream of ice at the two men who made it into his line of sight coming from the back hall behind them, temporarily allaying some flames in the process. Without warning, Mick burst through that ring of fire and Len just barely checked his instinct to ice him. Lucky bastard, Len had good reflexes. Barry was making some excuses at work over the phone, hurrying out but not yet hanging up.

“There you two are!”

“Do _not_ light anything else on fire, Mick!”

“My _flames_ are what’s keeping us alive right now!”

“Will you two can it—I’ve got ten guys out here and Deadline is one of them!”

Fuck. “Mick, watch this door and for the love of God—shoot them with a gun before you use that flame-throwing death trap!”

The phone disconnected in his ear. Barry must be running. He dropped it in his back pocket, glad he’d had it on him when the Santini’s showed and glad he wasn’t wearing his parka in this blazing heat.

Shifting down beside Lisa he peered outside. Their little house was in a run down district, one of the few house lots left, mostly surrounded by construction and empty lots, not far from an old rail yard. Also not a lot of places to hide, at least until they were well away from the house and into the surrounding construction. He could see Deadline making a line toward them, four Santini men flanking him, two on each side. Easy pickings. He lined up the cold gun and then—“GET DOWN!”—jumped back and dropped down as a hailstorm of bullets pelted through the window. Mick dropped low in the doorway but didn’t move beyond growling “What’s the _plan_ , Len?!”

His deltoid muscle in his shoulder was grazed and he caught a whiff of blood amidst the smoky and noxious smell of the house on fire—burning plastic and wood and, thanks to the dead Santini’s, human flesh. It was actually making him nauseated whenever he stopped too long to think—such as right now—but he swallowed it back. Lisa looked worse for wear from it, coughing now that the smoke was coming their way again, but Mick, maybe not surprisingly, seemed unfazed. Len reached up and shot a stripe of ice out the window, blindly but with enough practice at this sort of thing to hopefully get one or two—yep, he heard a very satisfying shriek. At least one down. But Deadline was probably going to walk through that wall any second, unless he was willing to wait for the smoke to, well, smoke them out, and he really hoped Barry got there soon because any other plan he could come up with was not a pretty one.

 

 ***************

 

Barry was finishing up at work when his phone lit up with Len’s number. A thrill went up his spine, he hadn’t had a second to see Len in a few days, relying mostly on texts to keep in touch. Admittedly, he’d had a mess to deal with as the Flash and it had been, well, messy—a crazy duo calling themselves each the Trickster, his father getting abducted, Iris getting poisoned, learned how to run _through_ objects—something that might help against Deadline!—and then Joe prompting him to share his secret with Eddie. And man had Joe won that argument (“If you can trust Snart with your secret then I think Eddie can manage it, Barr” and really, what could he say to that?).

But as much as he wanted to share the crazy rollercoaster of the past few days with Len, the other’s voice shot ice into his veins, excitement quickly plummeting to gnawing fear, stirring up trouble someplace around his solar plexus. He heard gunshots and crackling on the other end of the phone and he took off like a speeding bullet the second Len gave him the address. He took longer than he would have normally, whipping into and out of STAR Labs on his way with the suits and tech Cisco had made. He had no idea if they were still sticking to the plan but better to have that option than not, and they needed the tech to put an end to all of this. The lab crew was in his ear after that, guiding him to the address Len gave him.

When he arrived in the area it was a grey neighborhood with half-built buildings and a few empty houses, fenced off by armored Santini cars, men with guns lined up in front of one of the few houses, sweeping around it’s sides and—holy hell it was going down in an inferno. Three seconds later he’d hid the supplies and seven later he was brushing passed the Santini’s into the house, quickly locating the Rogues and then--

“ _What the hell is going on, you guys_?!”

“Flash, what took you so long?” Len was ducking down by a window, shoulder and arm bleeding. He looked like he was melting in the heat, face dark with smoke and sweat, black thermal sweater torn.

Another storm of bullets had Barry ducking and then speeding up, grabbing Len and running through that red-hot _heat_ before he was outside, depositing the other down behind one of the construction projects and whipping back into the house. He heard shouts from outside that sounded like ‘The Flash’ and a lull in the gunfire, saw a figure moving toward the house when he swooped back through the flames to grab up Lisa and deposit her next to Len. Barry took the time to put her on her feet—she’d flailed pretty hard when he grabbed her—before zooming back into the house. When he entered the room again, pausing to navigate the crazy inferno that was the blazing house, doorways collapsing left, right, and center, he maneuvered into the room to see— _shit_.

Deadline and Rory were fighting hand to hand, and things did _not_ look great for Rory. What he might have lacked in finesse he made up for in strength and surprising speed, but Deadline was agile, precise, and could dematerialize through any blow Rory looked like he would land. Barry watched it for a split second and they both started and saw him—Deadline took the opportunity to shoot something in Barry’s direction—too slow, he dodged, then realized, a second too late, it was a just a feint to distract, to— _no!_

“ _NO!_ ”

He leapt forward, fast, not fast enough, Deadline had a blade in Mick’s gut.

A second later they were outside and he cradled Mick gently to the uneven ground, the knife sticking out of him.

“About damn time,” that was Lisa, ever the ungrateful.

“What my sister means to say is—”

“Rory’s injured.”

“What?” Len and his sister said it in unison, but the man was first to drop by Mick’s side where Barry still held him. Shit shit _shit_.

“Deadline was in the room by the time I got there—he almost caught me with that gun of his—I had to dodge—he stabbed Rory.”

“It’s just a fucking sting—I’ll be fine!”

Len pulled Rory’s hand away to get a look at it. Mick smelled like the acrid scent of burning grease and smoke, covered in black patches of soot and ash, and the knife in his left side was surrounded by an unpleasant circle of blood, bleeding too quickly, nicked something important.

Len looked up to meet Barry’s gaze, and what he saw made Barry’s stomach drop. It was the first time he’d seen Len look _vulnerable_ , eyes too wide by a fraction, too deep. “He needs a hospital, now.”

“Len—” Lisa’s voice was too tight, too urgent, “—we don’t have time for that. Company’s here!”

Barry and Len both looked up, and sure enough they could see Santini men casing the street, maybe knowing they couldn’t have gone too far. They were going to be spotted in about thirty seconds if they didn’t move. 

“Fuck—Flash, get him out of here.”

Mick growled in his arms. “I said I’m fine! I’ve had worse scrapes than this, Len—I can handle—”

“ _I_ can’t handle watching you stumble around, bleeding out and getting yourself killed and distracting the rest of us. You’re out, Mick.”

He turned to Barry, eyes flat now, in control again. “Get him out of here and then get back here, _fast_.”

“What will you—”

“Me and Lisa can handle ourselves,” his smile was dark, grim, but Barry was nodding and that was that. A blink later and Barry was a red blur, Rory in his arms. Of course, his blur would give away their position, but he couldn’t worry about that. Cisco was in his ear, directions to the nearest hospital.

He was into the emergency room in a whoosh, stopping in front of the triage desk, papers flying everywhere as he sped to a stop. He was used to this moment, the second it took everyone around him to figure out what had happened, that the Flash was suddenly in their midst. There it was—the nurse had seen him, realized he was there—“Oh!” 

“He’s injured, knife wound, he’s bleeding bad.”

“Here!” She was calling for a doctor, stretchers, help, and he was nervously ticking away the seconds in his mind, wanting, _needing_ , to be back at Len’s side, to make sure he was gonna’ be okay. He felt his heart hammered in his chest and it had nothing to do with running. As soon as Rory was liberated from his arms—cussing at him and making a nuisance of himself but Barry couldn't help that—he was off, a flurry of more papers and wind behind him, back to where he’d dropped Len and Lisa.

They, of course, weren’t where he left them. The Santini men were though. He sped through them and around, dodged a trail of some weird vibration that almost caught him, must have been the slow-gun, sped up to the roof of the construction on Cisco’s advice in his ear. “I’ve gotta’ find Cold!” he called back to Cisco, and Wells responded, “Barry, you need to focus on staying out of the line of fire of the slow-gun for now. Do _not_ let that hit you.”

No shit, Sherlock. Barry’s eyebrows drew low as he looked around and—yes! From up here he could see movement, Len and Lisa snaking around the side of another building. He whisked away, off to where he’d hidden the stuff and then around and behind things until he caught up to them without being seen. Lisa was sporting two bloody knees that she hadn’t been before and there was dirt on her jacket and blood on her face. His chest eased a fraction to notice that Len was in the same shape he’d left him. Both of them started and trained their guns on him for the second before realizing who he was. Even for that second, his heart rate kicked up another notch, everything on edge. 

“Jesus, guys, I'm the cavalry here!”

“ _Sssshhh_!”

Both of them hissed at the same time.

Right, he whispered, “Jesus guys, I’m the caval—”

“What are you holding?” that was Len, voice soft but not whispered. Lisa moved toward the corner so she could watch for any company that might catch up with them.

“The stuff for the plan—your plan?” he dropped to one knee and started pulling things out of the bag—the extra Flash suit, larger than his own, the extra parka, smaller than Len’s, a black shirt, goggles. He looked up and Len’s eyes were wide, felt a second of triumph about surprising the man. Unless Len was just surprised he was being an idiot, because clearly how were they going to do the plan now when—

“Scarlet, you are a genius.”

“I am?" 

“We’re halfway through the plan, Phase C, quick, get changed and I’ll—”

“ _Boys_ ,” Lisa hissed, “We’ve got incoming.”

“Hold ‘em off, Sis, and we’ll—”

Barry sped up, whipping out of his suit and into the black shirt, replica parka, goggles. It was weird, with the goggles on, shuttering everything just a bit, a blue tint to the world but necessary for the disguise. For the sake of time he changed Len too. It was a lot harder than it had been with Caitlin, due in no small part to sleeves, and due to a slow but still aware Len starting to flail about halfway through in what looked to Barry like slow-motion, but he maneuvered Len’s body around until he was in the red fake Flash suit. It took about two seconds in total.

“What in the _fuck_ are you—wha—am I— _fuck_ that is a strange sensation.”

Barry tried not to laugh. Now was not the time to laugh. He settled for a smug grin, fur lining his face under this oversized hood. It didn’t hurt that Len looked _ridiculous_. Red wasn’t really his color, the complexion was not a match, but only a bit of his face was showing so hopefully it wouldn’t matter. They were about the same height, Len just had broader shoulders (and build in general), so it would do at a distance, as long as Deadline didn’t get a close look at his face.

For his own part, Len caught his bearings quickly and grinned back at Barry. At least they were crazy and having fun in this together. “You look okay in my parka, Red.”

“Feel free to—”

“Can you idiots stop flirting for two seconds and _help_?!” Lisa was shooting gold around the corner and paused to shoot a judgmental stare with her hissed words at them. Right. He needed to get his head in the game or he’d end up accidentally letting STAR labs know about him and Len.

Much to his immediate discomfort, Len handed him the cold gun. Barry had been careful to leave it on the ground when he changed Len, but now the other had hoisted it and pushed it into his arms. It was, well, cold to the touch, and heavier than he would have guessed.

“Phase C, you take this, help Lisa. I’ll get a few hundred yards out and then lure Deadline to me, then let him think his slow-gun has got the Flash. When he hits me with it, you speed in and attach the anklet to him.”

He nodded to confirm. It was the plan, after all. Phase A, leak a trail of breadcrumbs about a fake heist and prepare fake costumes. Phase B, on the day of the fake heist, lure in Deadline and have him see the Flash whipping around, get a good eye on Len, then find each other in the fray and switch outfits. Phase C, Len (dressed as the Flash) would lure Deadline away—hiding his lack of super-speed—and get Deadline to use the slow-gun on him, which should be harmless. Meanwhile, Barry would pretend to be Captain Cold and use his gun. And then Phase D: when Deadline was distracted and thought he’d beaten the Flash, speed in and latch the anklet to him. During all this, Lisa and Mick were supposed to run point on the Santini’s. Clearly, some parts were changing, but the rest might still work. 

Len took off running and he turned to Lisa and hefted the gun in his arms. She scoffed but didn’t seem to mind him stepping close beside her.

“Aim for the heads.”

Like that was gonna’ happen. It’s not like the Santini’s were good men or anything, but he wasn’t about to use a weapon that was designed to kill _him_ on another human being if he could help it. He aimed it at their feet, uncomfortable he was using it at all, and froze over the ground in front of them. With lead in his stomach he lined up the shot and pulled the trigger. As soon as he did he almost dropped it, surprised at the actual kick it had, and sudden chill it shot up his hands. No wonder Len’s hands were always cold.

Three Santini men were immobilized by the gun though, shouting, so he couldn’t pretend it didn’t have some merits. One broke off running and Lisa’s gun stopped him in gold before he made it five paces. He shot her a glare, forgetting she wouldn’t be able to see his eyes under the goggles he was wearing. Apparently she understood his expression anyway.

“What? A girl’s gotta’ have her fun, Flash.”

Using it must have alerted Deadline to their position though, because in the next instant the meta-human was walking through a wall and straight toward them. Fuck fuck fuck, too soon—he blasted cold in his direction and forced the man to dodge, through a wall and into a building and then—

“HEY DEADLINE!”

Barry almost jumped out of his skin. It was _his own_ voice, booming, coming from somewhere higher up, shouted over the area. “What the—”

“COME UP AND FIGHT ME, IF YOU’RE NOT AFRAID TO FACE THE FLASH!”

“Oi, Barry,” Cisco was in his ear, communicator in the parka now, “I made some modifications to Cold’s Flash suit. I added a voice modulator so he’ll sound like you.”

Out of the corner his eye, Barry saw movement at the other end other building they were tucked against.

“You don’t say, man.”

“Is that Cisco?”

He turned, and yep, that movement appeared to be Deadline, heading in the direction of “the Flash” from the other side of the building he’d phased into.

“Why do you care?” Barry’s voice was biting, moving in the direction he heard Len.

“Tell him Goldilocks says hi—”

“Her codename is _not_ Goldilocks, that is the _worst_ —tell her I’ll come up with—”

“I am _not_ here to relay messages between you and Lisa, Cisco!”

“ _Oooh_ , what did he say?”

God if they _were_ sneaking around like he and Len, they were awful at hiding it.

“That Goldilocks is an awful alias and that I have no intention of being your messenger. Now c’mon, we have to move, we need to be in position to see Len and get the anklet on Deadline when he’s distracted.”

Lisa just arched an eyebrow but followed him as he jogged at a normal pace in the direction of Len’s booming challenge. Caitlin’s voice came over the comm to tell him that the other was four stories up in the open construction due west of them, a building with no walls, just scaffolding and half-made floors. Why couldn’t Cold pick less dramatic neighborhoods for his safe houses?

“This way.”

Lisa didn’t question it and watched his back, a golden spike shooting to his left at one point when a Santini jumped (literally) out of the woodwork.

“Thanks.”

“Anything for my pretend big-brother.”

He frowned, the parka too warm and uncomfortable, the cold gun heavy in his arms. He didn’t really _enjoy_ pretending to be Len, and hoped the other man was at least getting a kick out of his brief career as the Flash. They rounded a corner and looked up, could clearly see Deadline scaling a scaffold, sliding through the parts in his way conveniently. They were close but he was still out of range and closing in on the red specter on the fourth floor of the unfinished structure.

They made their way to the first floor without any further incident, Lisa keeping an eye behind them. He wished he could just speed them up to the fourth floor and watch from a shadow somewhere but he knew his lightning trail would be a dead giveaway from here if anyone was looking. Instead, he followed Lisa when she found a climbable scaffold at the opposite end of the building from Deadline, and was halfway up it when—

“I see you’ve made it, Deadline.”

The voice— _his_ voice—rang out above them. Shit. He sped up just a bit, pulling Lisa up to the third floor with him, juggling the cold-gun as he climbed, something much easier with his speed. As soon as Lisa got her feet beneath her, she swatted him, not impressed with being pulled around. Neither dared speak though, the floorboards creaking on the floor above them.

“My my, Flash. I must say I’m excited you joined the fray—gives me a chance to try out my new toy.”

“Save it, Deadline, the only chance you’re getting is the one I’m giving you to walk away now. Otherwise, your time is up, and I’m putting you away for good.”

Barry bristled. He did _not_ sound that cheesy when he talked to criminals. Len just had to play up everything when he was in a costume. Lisa actually snorted and had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. Barry hoped he was frowning and not pouting at her when he motioned that they should start climbing up to the final floor.

It sounded like something was happening, a weird almost hollow sound every few seconds, and then Len’s—his own—voice again, “is that all you got? I don’t even need super-speed to deal with this!”

Ha. Ha. He thought sardonically, head poking over the scaffold to get a view of the proceedings. Thirty feet from them, Len was dodging blasts of something that sent ripples of motion through the air, and from all appearances, he really didn’t need super-speed to do it—Len was just naturally fast already, in the way non-meta fighters are after honing their reflexes for years, dodging easily as the mercenary telegraphed his movements. He was taunting Deadline. It was perfect.

But then the meta-human was moving closer to Len and getting more serious, pulling out one of those miniature exploding pellets from the pier. At the same time, Barry tensed, gave the cold-gun to Lisa and put his hand in the jacket’s pocket, feeling the phase-defier (Cisco’s final name for the anklet), fingers running over its smooth edges—Deadline threw the pellet and Len jumped, dodged to the side and— _there_. Deadline’s gun caught him square-on, mid-jump.

Len dropped to the ground, dressed in all red and letting out a guttural yell in Barry’s voice but then he was speeding up, swift, air rushing past his face as he whooshed behind Deadline and closed in, fast enough the other wouldn’t have time to register, had his guard down, closer and then— _YESS_!!! He slapped the anklet to—well actually to the other’s wrist, which was clearly exposed holding the slow-gun.

He stepped back and Deadline’s eyes widened, finger let up on the trigger, and he could see him try to shift, to phase and—

“Yeah, that’s not gonna’ work so well for you.”

“You’re—but you’re—” the mercenary’s head was jumping back and forth between his wrist and The Flash and Captain Cold, clearly realizing what had happened. Len stood and chuckled, peeled away the cowl of the fake suit—the moment of the big reveal. Deadline—they’d really have to find out his real name—gaped and it was almost comedic; Barry let himself smile while he removed the slow-gun from the man’s grasp. Len went full-drama of course, was unzipping the red jacket and—hello Barry was not about to complain about seeing Len in just an undershirt but was he really so eager to get out of the suit? It was more comfortable than this damn parka, which he could really serve to dump as well, if Len was gonna’ strip.

“Did you really think you’d managed to stop the real Flash? Or that I’d ever be so sloppy in my shooting?” The other man dropped the jacket behind him and Barry was reminded he had blood flowing and clotting down his arm from his wounded shoulder.

“Hey now, I thought I did okay—”

He was about to pull out a zip-tie and wrangle up Deadline, a nervous anticipation building in his stomach as he realized he wouldn't have an excuse to see Len anymore, wouldn't be able to explain away wanting to patch up his shoulder, kiss his uninjured one, kiss every part of Len in celebration and then—suddenly the hitman jerked back and away, fast, a practiced movement as he reached behind him with both arms, and Barry took a second to register, smiling sliding off his face and then he was already speeding up but it was too late. Deadline had a gun in each hand, lined up the shot at Len and Lisa’s heads. He pulled the triggers as Barry's arm reached to stop him.

The next second happened in a blur. Len started to shout his sister’s name and she started to scream, sounds dilated and distorted as Barry sped up. What should have sounded like the guns going off was deeper, a lower resonant frequency as his own was faster. He dropped the slow gun and it stayed suspended in the air as its descent was so slow next to his speed. He cracked like a whip toward Len, toward the bullet, sweat sliding down the back of his neck as he pushed himself, faster, the second extending and he was racing against the only other things that looked like they were even moving, against the two bullets, the air around them rippling like a wave, faster until—there, on the edge of his fingers, and—THERE! He caught three feet from Len, and his arm stretched out. Then he was reaching his other arm, running, fist closing around the one heading to Lisa, stopping it a half-foot from her face, her eyes wide and terrified. Time caught back up abruptly and he skidded to a stop between the siblings with sparks on his feet in boots not made for real running. Lisa’s scream had only just begun as time caught up, Len only finishing the first syllable of her name now.

And then something hit him—a blast of—it felt for a split moment like water washing over him, like a wave—but no it was sharper than that, hotter, it was—it cut him off from speed—like cold ice in his veins with no real ice—too slow like—he felt cut off from some part of him, some—someone was screaming—he was screaming—falling—hard ground beneath him—swallowing him—wet and warm blood in his mouth—seizing—everything was ice hot white red blood bile pain—pain—lancing through every cell in his body he was screaming—pain—this—iron and bile and copper in his mouth—convulsing seizing pain—it had only been three seconds and—this—he couldn’t—hot—cold—screaming—it felt like death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (don’t worry guys, I didn’t just kill Barry, I’m not crazy).
> 
> Okay, so if you don't follow me on [my coldflash tumblr](http://coldtomyflash.tumblr.com), I'm extending the fic to cover the end of season (don’t worry, I’ll deal with the betrayal and whatever else comes in Rogue Air and still make sure Len and Barry sort out their shit by the end ;3 ). As such, I had a strong need to align this with the timeline of canon in some way. So I did, setting Tricksters in here (also only like 48 hours pass in that episode if you pay attention? It’s jam-packed). The timeline is still fudged because here, weeks have passed between Rogue Time and Tricksters, more so than the CW-canon implies, but we’re going with it. 
> 
> Also, I’d like to take a second to THANK YOU guys all for the huge amount of support I’ve received about this fic. It’s been amazing, so much more than I ever would have guessed. Trust me when I say that this whole thing got so long and crazy because of you guys—I would have written a crappy 6-chapter fic with almost no detail if it hadn’t been for the amazing reception on this thing, all of which inspired me to make it better, longer, more researched, more winding and interesting. It’s been this hugely awesome process and now I'm extending the damn thing and already planning future fics to write for ColdFlash. Your comments give me life.
> 
> ALSO! Slight trigger warning for the next chapter… I got carried away and things get (even more) violent (with some very smutty flashbacks, the next chapter is a mess). There’s a TW at the top of the chapter, but just in case the violence bothers you, I’m sorry in advance about my lack of tag for the fic initially. 
> 
>  
> 
> ps. this will be a double-update, next chapter will be posted once i do a final read-through, likely within an hour and bit.


	16. Baby, I’ve been blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len’s perception is a bit broken right now
> 
> TW: gore, explicit violence, murder (I didn’t really plan for things to get this heavy, sorry guys, I just updated the tags). Also mentions of past child abuse (brief, not explicit).

Barry was screaming and Len didn't think. He tackled the bastard to the ground, knocking the fucking gun free. It hadn’t hurt him at all when it was on him, just acting like it dropped him, but Barry’s screams were echoing in his ears and they were blood-curdling. He could hear the other man stop screaming almost instantly when the gun dropped but he barely registered it, pulse pounding in his ears.

He scrabbled with Deadline, ducked, used his momentum, let Deadline try to flip them and carried it further, knee in the other’s stomach riding up to his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him, over top him again. His mind was hazy and focused at once, pulse and white noise, aware of every fiber of his skin and yet disconnected, outside it. In the back of his mind a counter had started since he’d knocked the gun down, since Barry had stopped screaming… five… he swung back and punched the ugly bastard in the face, once, dodged, again… seven…

 

_Lisa had given him shit about it when he got home from the West family house, about being out all night, teased him because she knew where he was of course, or at least who he was with. Her words were a combination of amusement and barbs, with what seemed like a real edge of worry that he ignored. He’d asked her to contact Cisco and she did, then flipped her shit when he said she wasn’t coming, that Mick wasn’t either. He’d shrugged it off and she’d gotten sweet like she does when she was mad, manipulative, and homicidal—slid cutting words his way about alone time with his ‘sweet little crush’ and ‘precious baby.’ She got angrier when he didn’t rise to the bait, the way she always did and he’d announced he was heading out, needed to get food anyway for the safe house. Lisa didn't let up, didn’t like that when she asked where he was going, all he had to say was “out.”_

_Mostly, he knew she hated being out of the loop, him ignoring her and keeping details about the Flash from her. And Len couldn’t blame her, all she’d ever seen him do was leave and then found a way to follow him anyway, so him leaving her out of his life decisions again (always), it would sting. Still, that was a miasma, a bog so thick that if he waded one toe in he’d be sucked under. The only way things between he and Lisa functioned was if both of them continued to pretend they functioned, pretended that he hadn't royally fucked up when he left her, made gulfs that would never really be breached, pretended that their childhood hadn't royally fucked them both up for good. They loved each other to death, he'd do literally anything for her, but sometimes he wondered how things had got this way, but he couldn't let himself think about it for too long. So he ignored her and she kicked something over as he hopped out of the house._

_Then he’d walked through aisles in the store trying to figure out what the Flash might eat. So far, he’d seen Barry eat pretty much anything. High density calories seemed like a good idea, and the kid liked pie, so he grabbed a box of cream-filled cookies. Hmm, better get some easy protein. And carbs, maybe a frozen pizza, they could toss it in the oven while they fucked and Barry could snack after. He tossed a pack of mixed nuts in his basket, feeling at ease thinking about Barry’s metabolism instead of his own problems. He didn’t let himself wonder if Barry would still be interested or if Joe West warned him away for good, the same way he didn’t let himself think about the smile tugging at the corners of lips when he thought about the Feed the Flash campaign, or whatever they’d decided to call it. He felt a bit warmer._

 

Eleven…his fist connected with solid—fucking finally _solid_ —cartilage and bone, blood erupting under his knuckles, splattering onto his white undershirt, that nose broken for good… twelve…

 

_He ignored the way his chest loosened a fraction when Barry offered to help Cisco take his measurements. It was hard to say, until then, where Barry really stood, and he’d been busy taking stock of the situation. But Len almost burst into laughter at his sly look, caught by surprise. It was sometimes fun to be caught by surprise, especially when it involved warm fingers smoothing over his shoulders. Oh yes, the speedster was definitely still on board for their little games._

_Too easy then to call him, to bring him back to the safe house, to let off some steam by pushing him against the wall with the intent to claim. Of course, the implications of Barry being a walking vibrator hadn’t been lost on him up until that moment, but he’d been more than glad for his chance to finally try that out. God it was good. And the look on Barry’s face, after, relief and excitement and arousal, Len was only too happy to drop to his knees, to tease desperate sounds and wanton expressions out of him. And the way he begged for Len’s fingers, for Len, any part of him to be inside him—no, there was no real cause for jealousy, Barry wanted him as bad as he wanted Barry._

Sixteen… He’d slammed the other’s head into the floorboards below them, ground too soft for it to crack his skull, lined up another shot and Deadline’s hands thrust up, tried to pry Len off, but his own blood was blinding him, in his eyes from the ruptured nose, his hands clumsy. Len’s own hands were wet with blood, too slick in the merc’s hair so he punched him again, and then again, crushing the zygomatic bone, dimly aware that it felt satisfying, grit his teeth… twenty-two…

 

_After that they’d gone to the bed, stripping and smirking and kissing their way into it. Barry was eager again, so goddamn eager and what a gift it was. He licked his way into the other’s mouth and then down his neck, which Barry offered to him, stretched out and exposed. Not that the other didn’t reciprocate, nipping on Len’s jaw, sucking his earlobe, the skin of his neck just under it. He shivered at the sensation, and of course Barry would start to retaliate eventually._

_He upped the ante, pulling his neck away from the other’s insistent mouth and moved down, sucking a pebbled nipple into mouth, satisfied at the stuttered breath Barry let out. He smirked and pressed his thumb to the other nipple, rubbing little circles into it, the same as he had in the entranceway to Barry’s house, remembering how it made him writhe under Len. It had the same effect now. He smirked and switched his mouth and hands places. Barry arched his body up into him, keening._

_“Impatient,” he murmured against the skin, his tongue dragging along the hard nub. With his free hand he reached for the lube and started slicking his fingers, deft and practiced movements._

_“You’re a fucking tease, Len,” as soon as Barry spoke he wedged aside his legs and dropped his fingers down, sucking on the nipple and pulling it just a fraction with his teeth, “a fucking, god…damn…” He switched his teeth to the other nipple and let his fingers slide behind Barry's balls, fondling them for a second before moving back, “fffucking—ha, hah…you’re…ha…” Len was circling the finger around, Barry’s entrance still slick from before so he relentlessly gave the other what he wanted, pressed his fingers inside him, starting with two digits, burying them up to the second knuckle and scissoring them. Barry groaned and rocked his hips down._

_And they’d just done this yesterday, and he’d just had his fingers inside Barry thirty minutes ago, so how the hell was he so goddamn tight again? Not that he was complaining but damn it was like super… it was super healing. That’s what it was. Barry’s body, even_ this _part of his body, healed fast, meaning it started to revert to its set point for tightness after each instance of sex, the same way his bites and bruises were all but gone a few hours after delivering them. A bit of relaxation in his backside was sure to disappear quickly, re-firm the muscles there, and Len didn’t know whether to call it a gifted blessing or an awful curse. Did Barry even realize?_

Twenty-seven…Deadline’s arms pulled harder, spitting his blood up at Len. He tried to wipe in on his bare arm and nails scratched his throat; he bore his weight down, knee on ribs, and legs came up from behind to pull him back. He dodged to the side… thirty…

 

_Nothing for it now though, he pressed his digits harder into the tight bundle of nerves that had Barry groaning, then nuzzled and kissed his way slowly, very slowly, up each thigh, taking time to scrape his stubble along the too-sensitive flesh and, at each particularly sensitive spot, to stop and lick and oh so gently suck until Barry was writhing, and then he blew cool air over the exposed skin and moved to the next spot before the other’s body could fully process the sensations. The least Len could do for him was get him so turned on that his body relaxed and craved his touch._

_He was considering blowing him again, mostly just to tease him, but then other asked in broken gasps if he could hold up for a second. As soon as he did he was pushed back, the other leaning between his legs, expression determined. “I haven’t done this in years,” he admitted, and Len realized he was about to enjoy Barry’s mouth on his cock instead of the other way around, awareness arriving a millisecond before it actually happened. It was sloppy and unpracticed and eager, too wet and uncoordinated. It was perfect. His fingers found their way into that thick dark hair and he tugged the strands just barely, gently, a presence not a pressure, keeping himself in check even though he really just wanted to let go and fuck upward into that dirty pretty mouth. Barry hollowed out his cheeks and sucked, built up a rhythm and it was getting harder to hold himself still, slick heat surrounding him, tongue grazing the underside of his cock. Scarlet was a quick study and it was getting too good too fast. It would probably be too much to ask to get him to vibrate his throat right now, but fuck if it wasn’t the plan for next time. He let out a long and low groan at how Barry rolled his tongue around the head, hand keeping a stroking pressure on him._

_“Sex, now,” he rasped, too close to coming in the other's mouth and needing to actually get around to fucking Barry tonight, to be inside him again._

_By the time they were in position it was a new level of intense, built up after those long minutes of fingering Barry and then being sucked until he might pop, built up from fingering Barry_ again, _until he was relaxed and ready, until his pretty red lips were swollen from biting them mid-groan to hold back the sounds, until after that when his mouth dropped open into a gorgeous “o” on each gasp, and he was begging Len to fuck him again, to give it to him hard, fast like he needed it. Only then did Len grab a condom and get to work, maneuvering the smaller onto his front, guiding him to lean forward on his elbows, drop his head between them and arch his back. Len grinned lasciviously at the sight, circled his finger around the puckered hole, teasing it, Barry pressing his hips back, and then Len was sliding into that tight and gorgeous heat. It felt like coming home. Barry was finally loose enough for him, more relaxed than the first time they’d done this, body opening up like it was meant for Len to claim it. He grabbed those hips like a vice and fucked Barry into the mattress like the other was pleading for him to._

 

Thirty-one… Deadline tried to roll onto his knees and Len kicked him in the gut, wiped the blood off his face with his undershirt. His senses were awash with iron and bile and still the lingering smell of acrid smoke. Someone was moaning in pain. Barry. He kicked Deadline again, hoisted him by his jacket and dropped him to the ground… thirty-six…

 

_Afterward they’d laid in bed, comfortably sticky. He’d spooned Barry from behind, one arm under the other’s head and another around his waist, keeping his warmth comfortably close, slotting their bodies together. Barry had snuck out from under his arm, shut off the light, and made it back to bed before he could blink. Perks. He wrapped his arm tighter this time, pulled the other into a cuddle._

_They exchanged some idle, pointless conversation, voices soft and sluggish. Barry reassured him that “Joe won’t be a problem, you know. About this—he doesn’t like it but I don’t think he’ll try to arrest if you ever do show up at the house.”_

_Len hmmm’d against his shoulder. “Can’t say the same about Lisa, I’m sure she’ll try ‘n get you as soon as our truce is over.”_

_Barry chuckled, probably didn’t realize Len was being serious. He didn’t care enough to correct him, just enjoyed the way the laugh rumbled through Barry’s chest, under Len’s hand curled around him._

_“You guys are close, right—you and Lisa?”_

_He brushed his fingers gently over skin, feeling Barry’s heartbeat underneath. “We have a… complicated relationship."_

_“Tell me about it?” The words were without insistence, mumbled and sleepy. He probably didn't know what he was asking. For a long time Len didn’t respond. When the lean body against him had slowed to even breathing, on the edge of sleep, he finally gathered some words, started to speak softly into the quiet room, “We had to look out for one another—our father wasn’t exactly a model citizen. He was a cop,” the ‘c’ caught, he couldn’t say the word without vinegar in his voice, “a bad one. Only thing worse than him ignoring us was when he paid attention to us, because if he noticed us it was to beat us for some imagined slight.”_

_The only acknowledgement he had that Barry was awake was that the other had become too still. “I left when I was seventeen but Lisa was too young, and where I went wasn't really a place she could follow, not then.” He pressed his lips to the back of Barry’s shoulder, his nose along the other’s neck, breathing in his scent, their mingled scents. For some reason, it relaxed him. “I abandoned her to deal with our father on her own.”_

_He expected Barry to pull away, then. The other should have, a hero ought to be disgusted by his selfishness. Instead, he felt a hand reach up and hold onto his, curling their fingers together. Barry gave him a gentle squeeze, but didn’t turn._

_“And now?”_

_He gave a wry chuckle against a freckle on the smooth skin under his lips. “She learned to follow me places that she shouldn’t, after all. Now we’re a team.”_

_Something in the air relaxed around them._

_“And your father?”_

_“Prison.”_

_Barry squeezed his hand again. “Good.”_

_They didn’t talk, after that, and he rolled back a bit and placed his head on an actual pillow but kept close to the warmth radiating off the speedster. He started dozing off, felt…warm, comfortable. Mumbled something that might have “goodnight, Little Red” before he could think better of it, breathing in the smell of the ocean on Barry’s hair._

Forty-three…He straddled on top of the meta-human and punched again, again, again, the other’s face was a mess of blood and bone, knocked out teeth. It was disgusting. It wasn’t enough. Deadline could still walk away from this, broken but alive. It wasn’t enough… his heart beat a surprisingly slow rhythm in his chest—or maybe it was just that it felt slow, everything felt slow. His knuckles tingled, numb… forty-nine…

_Some time later he’d woken up, cold, arms empty. Figures, he thought to himself, giving himself a minute to wallow in self-pity, chest suddenly a bit hollow. He sat up to stretch, maybe find a blanket, and then he heard the bathroom door open and saw Barry coming out of it, clicking off the light behind him. Oh. The realization that the other was still here made him something close to nervous, some feeling crawling around in his chest for reasons unknown. He blamed the fact that it was the middle of the night and suppressed the sensation in favor of casting an appreciative glance up the lean naked body standing in the moonlight. The shadows danced along the dips in his body, gathered along the hard and soft edges both, the jut of his clavicle, the planes of his chest, the valleys of his hips._

_“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Barry’s voice was soft, unsure, whispered in the dark of night. It was late, a quiet hour where even the city noises seemed to fall away._

_“You coming back to bed?”_

_He watched Barry hesitate, their eyes caught and he saw the question there in irises that barely reflected the light in the room. Whatever Barry was asking, Len didn’t know the answer, but his gaze must have guessed right because then Barry’s long legs were walking their way back toward the bed. He was about to lean back, curl up again when he noticed the shift in Barry, the deliberateness of his movements. He really was insatiable._

_The thin man climbed up the bed and straddled him. It was too easy to rest his hands on those hips while Barry’s came down on his shoulders before the other was kissing him, deep but without urgency. They stayed like that, kissing, hands gently roaming for what could have been an eternity, as if they could drink in one other's touch from this alone. He grazed over each mole, each scar, trailed over the kissed bruises he'd made, felt Barry's hands along his own back, his own sensitive scars, chest, almost ticklish sides. When it became too intense, too much, his hand finally found Barry’s flushed cock and pulled long strokes from it, the other breaking their extended kiss to inhale sharply. He spread his legs and Len took the invitation, grasped for the lube without breaking his hold on the other’s cock, still stroking slowly, and then ghosted his free hand up the inside of Barry’s thigh, leaving a wet trail. Then he was pressing his fingers in again, Barry’s body still partway loose, partway unhealed, and it parted for him, clamped comfortably around him. He zeroed in on the prostate without preamble, fingers slowly pushing in and pulling back, thrusting gentle but unyielding, feeling Barry clench down on and around him._

_When he withdrew the digits, Barry lined them up, thighs tight on either side of Len, over top him, hands splayed over Len’s chest and shoulders to keep his balance, not pressing but pressure. He looked glorious as he lowered himself so slowly onto Len’s cock, first the tip pressing in and they both gasped, pleasure raking in at the intrusion. Then inch by agonizingly hot inch Barry lowered himself, taking his time for once in his life, Len’s hands digging into his thighs to keep from pressing up, until finally Barry was seated on him, full to the hilt, and it felt like their bodies could be one long line together, without end or beginning. They stayed a moment there, breathing in time, his own hands almost shaking with relief and anticipation and then Barry started to roll his hips up, press down, up again, and Len moved with the rhythm, leaned back and pressed his body up into Barry in time with the rolls of his hips. They kept up the slow, deliberate pace, everything almost too hot but just bearably so, everything enrapturing and on the edge of too good but riding that edge, so they could keep it slow, intense in a totally different way._

_And this, Barry’s body, arching up, moonlight and city lights coming in from the window, cascading over him, pupils so dark in the dimness of the otherwise shadowy room, moisture accumulating at the edges of his eyes like dew, practically crying in pleasure, mouth open, letting out breathy little gasps with each thrust. God this was perfection. It had stopped being sex and turned into something so much different, tumbled sideways into what he could only call making love. He didn’t know when, didn’t think those words consciously but they were there, prescient and almost palpable, tangible in the air as his hands sliding up Barry’s sides, sweat sheen, electricity thrumming under his fingers like a static field. He was hyperaware of that skin now, of those little moles under his fingers, each scar, each crevice in the smooth canvas that was Barry, senses on overdrive._

 

Fifty-one… His hands shook with adrenaline and latched onto the gritty, bloody neck of the man underneath him, pushing aside the collar of his shirt and _pressing_ , squeezing, listening to the sickening sound of a wet inhale cut off by his hands. Fifty-three… He could hear Barry retching only a few feet away, the stingy smell of bile caught his nose, dug his hands in… Fifty-eight…

_At last, Len could hardly stand it one second longer. He reached forward, hands grasping, circling to Barry’s taut back and holding him in place while he pushed his own torso forward and up, shrinking the space between them; he caught Barry’s bottom lip between his teeth, rocked his hips up, kissed him deep. Then he was rolling them forward until Barry’s back hit the sheet and Len was overtop him, lean legs wrapped around his hips. He leaned back enough to look down at Barry, this beautiful angel stretched out underneath him, pliant with lust and bliss, holding on to Len like he trusted him, like he was precious._

_He started to thrust. He couldn't, didn’t, think, just felt. Each press forward, carving himself into the other’s body, pushing in, lining up with the spot that would drive the younger man to the edge, tight heat clamping down on him with the pivot of his hips, the slap of skin against skin, to the hilt each time, wanting to extend the moment for eternity. Each movement impaling Barry, making him gasp, too close to do more than shake and gasp, legs wrapped around Len's waist, arching up, holding himself up by Len's hands on his hips and his shoulders pressing back into the mattress, hips and torso off the bed so his body was a long arc, at the mercy of Len’s thrusts driving into him, connecting them, a solid being in two forms._

_He couldn’t peel his eyes away from the form underneath him, from Barry’s face, his expression of pure ecstasy. For a moment, their eyes met, and Barry’s were unfathomable pools. His arms had been pressing down, gripping the sheets but they reached up, slid onto Len’s shoulders, held on to him, shaking without vibrating, exhausted and spent but also on the edge of orgasm, gasping. Len’s breath was short, his hands gripped those lean hips again, pace quickening despite himself, harder, more ragged breaths, eyes locked on Barry’s. On Barry, just Barry. On this man, this ridiculous, foolish, beautiful, idiotic man that he—fuck—that he lov—_

_“Barry,” it came out like a chocked off prayer. His hands spasmed and he felt it, his orgasm, but not just his own—Barry was gasping, crying his name, hands clenching into Len’s shoulders, digging into his chest and they were coming, and he was pulsing into Barry’s body, quivering, and Barry’s body was pulsing around him like shockwaves, cum shooting between them though his cock was untouched. It felt like it went on for hours, days, forever, shuddering, wrapping his arms around Barry, breathing in his scent, their scents, until he had nothing left._

_He came down from his furor into a bone-deep exhaustion, deeper than his limbs. Barry was still in his arms, under him, holding him in the same embrace. Had he felt it too? Sex that wasn’t just sex, that felt like a religious experience but more than that, even, a different plane of existence. He swallowed thickly then gently shifted, pulled out. Barry’s legs dropped from his hips and Len rolled onto his back. What had just happened? Because it had never, ever felt like that before. He didn’t want to think of the implications._

Sixty two…Deadline had stopped fighting, hands dropping slowly from Len’s arms, twitching in defeat. He could hear Barry gasping in breaths now, stomach empty of bile, and it wasn’t enough. Deadline could still walk away if Len stopped now. He could still hurt Barry. Len tightened his grip...

 

Sixty-three… _The obsession, stalking… turned into teasing, testing, challenging…_ Sixty-four… _the mending and care-taking, patched ribs, breathtaking body underneath all that not-quite leather_ … Sixty-five _… the first stolen kisses, the feeling of regret as soon as it ended, the distraction afterward_ … Sixty-six _… the vulnerable, scared kid in an alleyway, working with his mother’s murderer, reaching out to Len for something he didn’t even know he could give_ … Sixty-seven… _the idiot who wanted to trust him with a weapon, the dork who ate pecan pie, the fool who invited the wolf back to his home for dinner, waiting to be gobbled up_ … Sixty-eight… _the silly and sly jokes, hands on his body till he had to bite his cheek until it bled so he wouldn’t get a situation in his briefs that Cisco would be hard-pressed not to notice while Barry’s hands slid up the inside of his thigh to measure his inseam_ … Sixty-nine _… the ridiculous and cheeky bastard who’d run up the fire escape and shared a goddamn sunset with him_ … Seventy _… the embarrassed Adonis who looked too good in red and had no idea the kind of effect he had on anyone with a pulse, who begged for Len’s fingers and his cock with the same cheeky mouth he used to tell off criminals_ … Seventy-one _… the way he blushed when he came, the way he gasped and cried Len’s name, the way he fit curled up beside him and in his arms on a mattress that was too small but didn’t feel that way…_ Seventy-two...  _the way Len could talk to him about his past and he didn't pull away, but held his hand, the way he hadn't left when he saw the vulnerability in Len's eyes in the middle of the night in a dingy safe-house, with no real reason to stay_... Seventy-three… _the way everything was brighter, richer, more colorful with Barry around, the way Barry was somehow at the center of his life since the very first day they’d met… the way he needed to protect Barry so badly that he’s crushing a man’s windpipe to make sure he can never, ever hurt Len’s lover again._

 

His hands dropped, suddenly limp. Reality crashed back.

His heart actually _was_ racing, hammered in chest, breathing heavy, loud rattling breaths, bitter taste in his mouth, hot pain in his arm, sweat and sticky blood caked to his clothing, caked to his body. Lisa was yelling something but his ears were ringing, couldn't process it. Deadline was dead underneath him, and there was nothing cold-blooded about his murder. It was white hot, visceral, vengeful. He’d killed men before, with pistols and the cold gun, a knife once, the sharp uptick in his pulse the only indicator it had happened. This was different, this wasn't a necessity for a plan, a calculated decision, this was… what he’d do for Lisa, what he’d do for the select few in his life that mattered, the type of gruesome reckoning he used to fantasize about giving his father. This was a crime of brutal passion. Except it wasn’t for Lisa, and it wasn’t to protect himself. It was for Barry Allen. It was because someone had dared to try and _kill_ Barry Allen.

It was preemptive revenge and his hands were sticky with another’s blood because of how he _felt_ , because he wanted to fight Barry Allen and bite him and fuck him and _make love_ to him and because he wanted to feed Barry Allen boxes of cookies and wake up beside him. Because he wanted to wrap Barry away from Harrison Wells and the rest of the world. Because he wanted Barry so bad that his eyes stung with sweat and smoke and fire and he’d killed a man to protect him, to avenge him. He killed a man because he loved Barry Allen. 

His mind cut off, a mess of white noise, hands started to shake. Maybe just kept shaking, really. He knew at that moment, in the core of his being, but he couldn't, and suddenly those words just wouldn’t, didn’t make sense, not like this, not right now. He swallowed and it _hurt_. Everything hurt. There was smoke in his eyes, in his lungs, in his skin and his being. His hands were aching and numb from exertion, bloody messes. He was bleeding, cut, bruised. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They had a _plan_.

He stumbled over to Barry, who was pushing himself up off the ground, on his hands and knees. He was still wearing the parka, the black clothes. He looked… shaken, ashen, sweaty, smelled bitter like bile. Len could only what Barry saw in his expression, the other’s green eyes were wide. Len wanted to help him stand but the second he reached his hands out he saw the blood on them, pulled them back. Barry stood on his own. He was dressed like Len, it was all backwards.

“You… he’s—”

“I killed him.” His voice sounded rough, off, flat and raspy.

“The anklet—”

“Was on.”

“You—”

“I did what I had to do.”

“What you had t—you didn’t have to do _anything!_ —the anklet—” he shouted that, he looked like it caused him physical pain, an arm wrapping around himself instantly. It probably did, he was wincing.

“I had to, Barry. He hurt you, was going to kill you. I did what I had to do.” His throat constricted with the admission, as if to stop the words from coming out but it was too late. It was true, but he hadn’t meant to say it.

Barry’s expression said a thousand things and nothing. A dozen yards below them, Len heard cops shouting freeze and Santini men dropping their guns. Tires and sirens screeched in the distance but time stood still for a minute while neither he nor Barry could drop their gaze.

“ _LEN!_ ”

It was Lisa. She finally cut through the haze; he snapped his head toward her. She was holding his cold-gun and his mind caught up. Police cars. Safety. Shit. Reality washed around him. He had to get out of here, turned to looked at Barry, but—

“Go.”

He swallowed (still hurt); he wanted to ask Barry to come with him. It was stupid, everything about this was stupid. This was not in the fucking plan. “You—”

“Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself.”

His own words thrown back and him and the other was shut off, eyes hard. Right. He wanted to grab him by the neck of that stupid suit and kiss him, make his eyes light up again, but he couldn't, not then, not there. So instead he turned his back and pretended he was functional. He caught sight of the corpse, and beside it, the fucking gun that had hurt Barry so much, that had caused this mess. He grabbed it too and stalked off with Lisa. No way was Wells, or _anyone_ else ever getting their hands on it. If he had to find and blow up the research lab that had made it, he fucking would.

He and Lisa found their getaway car—the police were more than distracted by the remaining and fallen Santini boys—and burned rubber on their way out of there. Len didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got more graphic than originally intended. Sorry for any and all squicks or triggers.
> 
> BTW, in case it’s not clear, this entire chapter is really about Len realizing he’s fallen in love with Barry, and it terrifies him. He kills a man for threatening/hurting/almost killing Barry and it’s not something he planned, it’s something he just _does_. Len isn’t one who normally loses control like that, and it disturbs him (and this will be more clear later, but it also reminds him of his father).
> 
> Also, 73 Seconds… the title… there’s some layers of symbolism here, but as a theme, it’s the time it takes a) for Barry to speed into his life in chapter 1, b) for him to switch from thinking of Barry as a fun distraction to a person he cares about (though he doesn’t realize it at the time) when he hugs Barry in the alleyway, and now c) for him to realize he’s in love with Barry and cement that love in a way that, well, is probably going to be with him forever. Not that he regrets it, he doesn’t for a second, but he also won’t forget it. 
> 
> Next few chapters will start to deal with the rest of S1 canon and whatever Rogue Air throws our way (+ pool table sex, I need it) :3 :3 :3


	17. If I make you a castle in the sand, will you build me a moat?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spaces in between
> 
> [Angst ahoy]

The meta-humans were going to die if they didn’t move them, that much was almost certain. The meta-humans were going to kill him and probably a good chunk of the city, definitely Caitlin and Cisco and Joe, if they let them out now. The meta-humans and this pipeline prison were another mess he had created, no progress rehabilitating them because his STAR labs team didn’t make it a priority. And now, if he didn’t do something fast, they were going to turn into more names on the list of people he wasn’t able to save.

Barry couldn’t handle that much more blood on his hands. It wasn’t an option. They had to get the metas safely away from the particle accelerator and they _had_ to do it in a way that meant Cisco, Caitlin, Joe, and the city would be safe. No matter what.

God, he was at the end of his rope. Sometimes he felt that being the Flash was the greatest gift that had ever happened to him, and sometimes he realized that if Wells had never turned the particle accelerator on in the first place, there would be no metas, and his friends and family would be safe. He didn’t let himself dwell though, just steeled his nerves and looked up at the sign that said _Saints and Sinners_ , wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. His stomach was doing flips. He told himself to buck up, because this wasn’t about him, it was about the metas and he owed them this much at least. He had to try.

But the past five weeks had been… awful. He’d never felt so alone in his life. After what happened with Deadline, what he’d _let_ happen—what he could and should have _stopped_ , Cold betraying his trust by murdering a man they’d agreed not to kill, brutalizing him though he couldn't phase away, wasn’t a threat to them anymore—he wouldn’t, _couldn't_ see Snart again. It hurt too much to even consider. But God that didn’t mean he didn’t miss Len.

At first, he’d avoided his calls, no idea what to say, spent the first week with his finger over the call back button without pressing it. Cried to Joe about what happened. His adoptive father was both sorry and relieved, and had given Barry back Len’s personnel file. It sat on his desk gathering dust for the month—he couldn’t bear to open it, or to return it. Eventually he’d shoved a pile of folders on top just so he wouldn’t have to look at it.

He’d told Iris it was over between him and mystery man, proud his voice didn’t crack when he said it. If there was a silver lining, it was that he’d never told Cisco or Caitlin about this mess in the first place, though for half of the past month he hadn’t even been sure he could trust _them_ , trust such a shaky concept after watching Len kill despite agreeing not to, kill _because of him_. He needed not to think about that when he was about to walk into what was clearly a total dive bar and ask the man for help. It was hard to think of anything else, now that he’d opened the can of worms he was suppressing all month.

He hadn’t even mentioned anything about it to Felicity when she came to visit, though that was half because they had a lot more going on and half because he didn’t want his own bitterness to taint the happiness of her own new relationship, not that he really liked Palmer all that much. That dinner had been awful and he’d felt so lonely, so out of place, almost wishing Len was there but also knowing Len would never fit there, at that table. He’d almost told Felicity then, about how he was breaking apart at the seams, about how he thought he could trust Len and then the other had… had…

He swallowed. He really shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. Not when the had less than thirty six hours to save the lives of the other metas. That was the priority, not his feelings about Len. About Cold.

He shouldn’t be thinking about it when he was about to see Len for the first time in over five weeks.

He took a deep breath and stepped into the bar.

 

*************

 

Thirty nine days. He had thirty nine fucking days of silence from Barry, thirty nine days of no response to his calls before he stopped bothering, no kisses or visits or conversation. Thirty nine days to try and erase the memory of smooth skin under his hands and lips, the memory of a cheeky grin and rolled eyes at his awful jokes, of laughs shared over pie and over beer, of whispered words in the dark and a warm body in his arms, to forget the aching in his chest and the hollow feeling in his gut.

He’d be lying if he said he was making much progress, but it really didn’t help when Barry waltzed in to his favorite dive one afternoon without so much as a by-your-fucking-leave, looking ethereal despite the dingy lighting, despite the grime, too clean for a place like this. In that moment, Len wanted nothing more than to _ruin_ him.

 

*************

 

After getting out of the Santini and Deadline mess, they’d headed for Lisa’s apartment because it was closest. Even if the Santini’s came to call, they had no meta-human, Len had his gun, and Lisa had her own and Mick’s in the bag she carried. No intelligent mafia man would dare come after them, and maybe they’d realize now that messing with the Snarts would only bring them trouble.

They didn’t talk on the car ride—Lisa was driving and Len was nursing his split and swollen knuckles—or until they were in her apartment. It’d been turned over in the month they’d been laying low at safe houses, a giant mess, but neither really cared. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Lisa rounded on him.

“Are you gonna’ tell me what the hell that was?”

“I got carried away,” his words were clipped. He really just wanted a shower and clean pair of clothes.

“Carried away, Len?! You went apeshit! You reminded me of—”

“Do _not_ —”

“I was gonna’ say of _Mick_! Though now that you mention it…”

He shot her a look, shoulders tense and she glared back.

“Look Lenny, would you just tell me what’s going on with you! You aren’t acting like yourself and I—”

“I’m going to shower.”

He ignored her attempts to stop him and stalked to the bathroom, set the water to blistering cold. It was uncomfortable and exactly what he needed—to cool down. Blood travelled in rivulets down his body under the water as he shivered, grazed shoulder and ruined knuckles the only part of him that felt any warmth. His movements were perfunctory but clumsy under the cold spray of the water, and by the time he got out he was numb with it.

Then he was pulling out her first aid kit and patching up his shoulder and knuckles. His hands would be a mess for weeks. He had bruises he didn’t remember getting, a burn on his leg he hadn’t noticed, his shoulder was going to scar, but all in all, he’d come out on top so he didn’t have any regret.

When he came out of the bathroom with a towel on, he could see Lisa setting some of her furniture to rights. She was realigning a table when he stalked passed and toward the spare room where he knew he had a few sets of clothes. Her voice followed him down the hall,

“I made some calls about Mick. He’s in surgery right now.”

He pulled on a pair of jeans and called in her direction, “He’ll live?”

Something made a minor crash sound from the living room. “Seems that way—police are already outside his room though.”

He made an ‘mmm’ noise and pulled on his shirt. It hadn’t been a great month for injuries, now that he was tallying them up, remembering his bruised up ribs.

“We’re gonna’ get him out?”

He came down the hall and watched her sort out some couch cushions. “Of course.”

“You said he was out, and then you got the Flash to save him.”

She turned to look at him, and ah, this had been a distraction tactic—lure Len into the living room with the innocent sounds of cleaning so she could pinpoint him under her eyes that knew him too well.

“What about it?” he kept his own gaze steely and crossed his arms to lean against the door frame.

“You’ve never been one to save guys, Lenny. When they’re out, they’re _out_.”

“Is that problem?”

“Don’t be obtuse, it’s a good thing. It’s just that you’ve always played it like the only one to protect was _me_ and—”

“You _are_ the only one to protect—”

There, now she did it. Focused all her attention on him and she was the only one who could see straight though it all.

“That’s not true anymore, is it?”

Her voice was high as ever but not false sweet. There was an iron undertone to it.

“We need Mick, I was just—”

“Why, to fight the Flash?” she simpered and then straightened her mouth into a hard line. “And don’t insult me, we’re not talking about Mick anymore.”

He nodded, had thought as much. “What’d you want me to do about it?”

Her eyes widened. “ _Do_?! Nothing Len! I just want to know what’s going on in your life!”

His lips pursed. “The Flash and I have been fucking—“”

“Oh really?” She stepped closer, eyes wide and mocking, “I kind of figured that one out, believe it or not, dearest brother.”

“Lisa,” he ground out. What did she want from him?

She got a few feet away and then sighed, dropped the act in favor of being put upon. “You have no idea, do you?”

He shook his head, once.

“Two months ago you’d have iced Mick yourself if he was a liability on a scene. And it’s not because you’re heartless, Lenny—I know you’re not—it’s because you’re _you_. You do what you have to in the moment and you mostly have fun doing it. And I _like_ that you’re starting to care about more people, to let them in, I think it’s been a long time coming… But Lenny, I’m just worried. I haven’t seen you lose control like that, like you did today, not in a really long time.”

He looked away. It was true. It was a consequence of caring, he’d discovered. You let emotions get in the way and the next thing you knew you were making rash decisions, putting yourself at risk. He didn’t have much to say though, because like it or not, Barry had wormed his way in and taken up residence somewhere in the junction between Len’s ribs and there was no point in denying it now.

“Lenny,” Lisa stepped closer, “I’m sorry about what I said, y’know, earlier about you reminding me of dad,” he wished he didn’t stiffen so obviously as she spoke, but he dropped her hands onto his arms and rubbed them to warm him up. “Truth is, you fighting to protect people you care about, that’s all you—that’s grandpa, too I guess. But there’s not a bone in dad’s body that would have ever fought to protect anyone but himself. You’re nothing like him, Len.”

He felt himself relax and then wrapped her up in a hug that she returned; her hair still smelled like smoke and burning but this was nice, for a second. For a second, things felt normal again, the two of them against the world.

After that, he spent the next two days thinking about Barry while he sorted out his old apartment and got back in touch with people he hadn’t seen while being underground, caught up on messages mostly. There wasn’t much though; people as a general rule had tended to avoid people like Leonard Snart unless they needed something from him. He gave Barry two days to make contact before he gave up and decided the other was probably being an idiot and letting himself get freaked out, so he called him. The other didn’t answer. He didn’t think much of it; he was most likely out on Flash-related business. He didn’t leave a voicemail.

The next morning, he called Barry again, when he knew he’d be getting ready for work. The other didn’t answer. He knew the speedster had a lot going on—kept tabs on him, as was his nature. There were some people in town from Starling, a woman, Felicity Smoak. She’d been there the first time he met Barry, after the train incident. He wondered now about their relationship, whether she and Barry had history, but apparently she was with a billionaire. He made a mental note to see if Ray Palmer had anything he was inclined to steal in the future. He didn’t leave a voicemail.

He let two days pass, waiting for Miss Smoak and her friend to leave town.

He called Barry three days after she left. The other didn’t answer. He knew Barry had a lot on his pile, was off investigating with Detective Thawne of all people. But Joe West was in Starling so he’d thought just maybe now would be a better time… His stalking might be slightly out of hand. He didn’t leave a voicemail.

A week passed. He and Lisa were gearing up to bust out Mick. He didn’t call Barry. He could take a hint. And whatever Barry was up to, it was none of his business anymore anyway, apparently. He dreamt about him still, about his touch, but distracted himself by planning Mick’s escape.

Lisa was over to his apartment one evening to finalize the details. He was on the balcony outside his after they’d settled on the plans, leaning forward on his elbows that pressed into the railing, watching the last light of the sun fade from the sky over Central City. Over his home. Then as soon as it was dark, he saw a lightning streak blur through the city. Just great.

He felt a cold bottle—no doubt beer—press against the side of his head. “You’ve got shit for luck, Lenny.” He took the bottle and Lisa leaned on the rail beside him, watching the streak. Barry must be looking for something. From his 24th story apartment, he could see the lightning chasing all around the city, up and into things then out and through the streets. “I mean, I thought your luck was bad before—you’re handsome enough, smart enough, but you’d scare ‘em away with your sorry ass excuses at flirting and your crappy jokes.”

“Lisa…” she wasn’t exactly helping. He didn’t take his eyes off the lightning.

“But Lenny, I gotta’ say, this is like next-level sad, even for you.”

“If you don’t mind—”

“I do. You’re moping, and you’re moping because _the Flash_ dumped you.”

She wasn’t exactly wrong. He peeled his eyes away from the city with effort, took a long swig of the beer, didn’t even taste it.

“You’re not even denying it.”

“I’m _contemplative_ because things went sour, Sis, I don’t see what there is you want me to say, exactly.”

He snuck a glance at her out of the corner of his eye and she was giving him a wide-eyed stare that basically screamed ‘you’re an idiot and why do I have you as a brother.’ He’d seen it enough times to know.

“Seriously, Len? This is—”

“It is what it is, Lisa,” he ground out the words and shot her a dark look. Lisa did not look impress and he sighed, “It’s not you I’m frustrated with.”

Her chagrined look told him he was forgiven, then she took his beer and finished it to cement that. It figured. But then she placed it on the ground and stood up again to take his empty hand in hers. “Lenny, what happened with the Flash with… Barry… you _know_ it wasn’t your fault. You did what you did to protect him, to protect all of us, and if he can’t see that, then he’s a jackass and isn’t worth your time of day.”

Since telling her Barry’s name she’d agreed to never use it, keep up the illusion that she had no idea what his identity was. But he didn’t keep things from his sister and when he’d first got that information he made sure that Lisa knew as much as he did about the Flash. It stung though, to hear the name now, after the weeks of slow torment realizing Barry wanted nothing at all to do with him. Realizing the other despised who Len really was, what he was capable of.

“I let myself get in too deep. A rookie mistake,” he chuckled without humor. “It won’t happen again.”

Her voice was ten shades softer now, taking in his expression. “Oh Lenny… You really did fall for him, didn’t you?”

He close his eyes and drew his brows together. What did she want him to say? Nothing, he hoped.

She sighed. “I’m gonna’ kick his pretty red ass.”

He almost laughed. At least he’d always have his sister.

Busting Mick out went off without a hitch. Well, actually with a hitch, in that they used a hitch to help bust him out of the transport vehicle. Really, that part came down to distraction, the cold gun had done the real work. No sign of the Flash trying to stop them. He told himself he wasn’t disappointed at the no-show.

Mick wasn’t fully healed; it had been two weeks and three days now since, but he’d need another two or more weeks to recover. As it turned out, they’d had to remove his entire spleen. Len decided a trip out of the city was just what he needed—Lisa had been giving him increasingly pitying and then disapproving glances about his moping as he tried to throw himself headlong back into his work. So he dragged Mick up to Opal City to lay low and recover for a bit, research a new job, away from the Santini’s and the madness that could sometimes be Central. Away from Lisa’s eyes saying too much even if she said nothing.

Mostly, he needed a change. The past few weeks had felt like a series of disconnected events, ones he’d almost lifelessly floated through, like there was cotton in his ears and a filter behind his eyes. This kind of brooding was pointless and he knew it, hated it. He hadn’t let himself think about Barry since talking to Lisa that night, aside from his dreams. Barry was featuring a lot in his dreams. He hated that too. He decided he needed to get it out of his system.

Mick didn’t care where he went so he didn’t bother saying goodbye on his way out of the little apartment they were sharing for the week. Then Len did what he always did when he was lonely or horny and didn’t feel like finding a cute boy in a nightclub he could convince to like him for an evening. He sucked back some liquor then went downtown and bought an evening with someone to his tastes.

It has always been like this. His personality wasn’t exactly the kind most people wanted to keep around, even if they enjoyed how he looked or the power he commanded. The criminal underground had never been a great place to find other gay men, most of them closeted and more than one of them married to women, so relationships didn’t happen too often there. A night with him seemed to be the most that the majority of his paramours were interested in, a few nights at best. He’d had relationships with people outside of this lifestyle but they’d been short lived, and he was under no illusions about why. His angles were too sharp, too intense, his lifestyle too criminal for many to stomach once they understood much about him, his personality not charming enough for those who might have put up with it.

Truth be told he had never really learned how to try—his first encounters with other men had all been bought and paid for, unsure how else to even go about it at the time, young and covering his steps so his peers wouldn’t find out the ‘ugly truth’ about him, and with the circles he ran in, he’d never really found a way to change his habits and where to look for sex that actually had strings attached, as opposed to one night stands and transactions. It had stopped mattering to him years ago, really, his work and the chase and the score were what brought him pleasure. Sex was just something his body craved, something to want, staring at the pretty people around him, something he could typically get without too much trouble. Relationships would just mess up his life anyway, and a relationship with Barry Allen—

He stopped thinking about that. He was at his destination anyway, a place he knew to pick up the kind of entertainment he wanted. It didn’t take long to find someone suitable, pretty. The young man looked enough like Barry that he could pretend, if he squinted, in low light. He was wearing tight tight jeans and thin zip up sweater, looked a year or two younger than Barry. They sorted out a price—Len could be generous, wasn’t too worried about that part ever, and he let the young man direct him to a nearby motel with rooms by the hour. He’d brought along some vodka in a flask and helped himself to a swig after entering the room, offered it to his companion. The other accepted. He almost wished he hadn’t offered, it was ruining the illusion—Barry hated the taste of straight vodka and thought it was pointless for him to drink. He couldn’t even remember when he’d learned that about him.

“I’m Seb—”

“Don’t care. Tonight your name is Barry.”

The other snapped his mouth shut and nodded. Too demure. Barry never balked under his tone, no matter how harsh. “You can talk back, kid. I’m not paying for a lifeless doll.”

“Right, so, how do you want me?”

Business contracts, he hated this part—listing off his expectations. He just wanted to fuck, let it develop on it’s own. But communication was essential—that much he knew, even if some people could conveniently ignore that fact and never phone back.

He’d paid for a blowjob and a fuck, good money. “Undress.”

He started to undress himself as well. Had he hired from an agency, a nicer venue, the young man would be undressing him, taking his time, flirting, making him feel wanted. But this wasn’t an agency and this brunet wasn’t a high-class trained escort, he was just a means to an end for an hour. So he turned the lights to low and sat on the edge of the bed, let the other sink to his knees and use his hand to get Len hard before rolling a condom down the shaft. Then he was taking Len into his mouth and it was all wrong—too practiced, not sloppy, not eager. Good, great even, tongue and suction and grip and speed all designed for a quick orgasm. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend. Dragged his fingers through hair that was too fine, not as thick and full as the real thing. God he tried to pretend.

This really wasn’t working.

“Wait, wait—”

The boy pulled off him with a pop and looked up. He really was quite pretty, fine bones, a few moles, big brown eyes with long lashes, full lips. Len evaluated him. “Get on your hands and knees instead.”

Not-Barry nodded and stood, reached for the lube he’d placed on the side table. “Should I?”

For a fleeting second he thought about Barry, the real one, fingering himself—hand vibrating as he got himself off relentlessly, Len whispering filthy things in his ear to get him there, stroking his cock. It wasn’t something they’d ever done but the imagery was as vivid in his mind as if they had.

“Let me.” he replied and went to work. He was good at this, at least, could enjoy providing pleasure, easy to imagine someone else in his hands, especially if the other was facing away from him. And his companion had a pretty ass, a long back that he arched, pale skin, more than enough flesh to distract himself with. His breath hitched a little when Len found his prostate, fingers twitching instinctively around the sheets. He let out breathy little sounds that weren’t moans but Len could deal with it, and his body was pliant under his fingers, relaxed quickly. Len reached for a fresh condom and rolled it on, hand returning to a soft, round ass cheek.

It was such a little thing—the boy flinched when Len’s hand drifted onto his ass, just a bit, most likely just instinctively from the unexpected touch. But this wasn’t Barry. Barry had never flinched under his fingers, not even the night at Len’s safe house when he was nervous and challenging and desperate and turned on. He was more than fire, he was electricity, sharp and shocking, he didn’t back down—he pushed back, ground back, begged for more. Len ground his teeth hard to quell the sudden and unwelcome nausea.

“Get dressed and get out.”

“Wha—”

“I said get out,” The syllable stretched in the air, “I’m done with this.”

The kid was rolling over, showing a bit of fight for the first time that night. “I’m not giving you a refund just because you can’t—”

“Keep your money and _leave,”_ his voice was ice and the boy didn’t hesitate that time.

When he was gone, Len drank down the rest of his flask. Was it so much to ask for someone that wanted him? For more than one night, or for his money? Someone who _craved_ him, teased him, laughed with him, dropped what he was doing to answer his calls and sneak off to where he was, who looked to him for comfort, who trusted him with his life? Was it so much to ask for someone he could do all that for in return?

He’d really fucked up one of the best chances he’d ever got, hadn’t he?

He had an awful hangover the next day. Remembered finding more alcohol, finishing it, dimly recalled maybe stumbling back to the apartment at some godforsaken hour. He spent the next week making sure his head was finally out of his ass and he was acting like a fucking adult again, done being sorry for himself. Mick was staying in Opal for a while but Len when back to Central and started planning his next gig, making time for some people he knew in the scene, taking appointments. He was still spending too much time at Saints and Sinners during the lonely afternoons, a place that was the opposite of secure and he was sure even the cops knew he liked to frequent it, but his head was back in the game and he had things on the horizon for Captain Cold. Because if Barry didn’t want Len, then the Flash would just have to deal with him instead.

Of course, everything changed again the afternoon Barry walked into Saints and Sinners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [heaps on piles of angst and then hides from the readers and apologizes by baking you all cookies]
> 
>  
> 
> An important note about their perspectives: I tried to make this fairly obvious, but they’re both unreliable as narrators and you can’t take them at their word, here. Len is trying so hard to convince himself he doesn’t care that he’s alone and unlucky in love, but he’s aching and hollow here. He does genuinely love the chase and the game and his life, but the time he had with Barry has made him want something and now he feels like he’s lost it, so it’s a million times worse than it might otherwise be, sore and on the surface again, a fresh wound. The worst part is he blames himself.
> 
> And Barry’s struggling to acknowledge—he’s halfway there but not fully—why killing Deadline had such an impact on him that he had to pull away. We’ll get more into that later though, and it’s touched on a bit in this chapter. But we’re really not at all at the bottom of either of their feelings, here. And it’s gonna’ remain messy through the events of Rogue Air, which I’ll be covering next. Can you see why I was so excited about how the episode went? It fits perfectly with my setup and the dialogue was extraordinary in terms of what I needed it to be. So excited about integrating it. Not sure what I'll do with the finale, we'll see what it gives me.
> 
> On a final note, I’m drawing a lot from the comic books and my own headcanons, things like Len and Lisa’s grandfather, Len’s bad luck with love, his tendencies toward paying for sex. If you’re curious at all about my headcanons or some of the background, or just want to rage at me for the unexpected angst, feel free to ask in the comments or drop me a line on coldtomyflash.tumblr.com


	18. Maybe if you ask nicely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry’s a little desperate and Len’s a little less than impressed

The air shifted in the bar as the door opened; the hairs long back of his neck stood up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw, but it couldn’t be—paused, looked to the side and sure enough—he didn’t wait before turning around, his game face an automatic response he didn’t need to prep. “Well well well, if it isn’t the Scarlet Speedster.”

He might as well set the tone; there was no way Barry was here with an apology on his lips, not after all this time. The speedster’s expression was all challenge, jaw set, lips parted just a bit and damn he looked good, too pretty for this place, but his expression became more dubious as soon as Len said his nickname, more chagrined. “We need to talk.” He pursed his lips after saying it, and oh this should be interesting.

He smirked, knowing that whatever this was, he was holding the power and that was fine by him. He held Barry’s gaze for a long while, drinking in the sight of his long form, dark sweater, tired eyes. Mostly, it gave him the opportunity to watch the other squirm under his gaze for a good minute, then he grabbed his drink and motioned for Barry to follow.

As he moved across the bar, he listed off things for Barry to eat, reminding the other man how well Len knew him. Anything to see his discomfort grow. He walked around the billiards table to put some space between them and, after declining the food offer—that was a first—Barry cut right to the chase.

“I need your help with a problem.”

Oh, that was rich. Not wholly unexpected, but rich. He half-sat on the edge of the table so Barry had to look at his shoulder, body faced away while still talking to him.

“Must be pretty desperate to come asking me for my assistance. But I’ll bite—wha’d’ya need?” And he probably was desperate, because Len knew Barry despised him and yet here he was. But even so, he looked down when asking Barry, fiddled with a billiard ball. He was curious but part of him really didn’t want to know, didn’t want to help, to be compelled to say yes.

And oh, the plot of Barry’s adventure here today was thick indeed. He needed help with transport. So he was smuggling humans now? Not sure how he felt about that, but he watched intensely as Barry explained his situation, kept his eyes zeroed in on that pretty face while Barry talked about dangerous and angry people to transfer. Little Red was calmer than Len would have expected, determined, looking him in the eye, the fierceness he remembered.

“Powers, hm.” More meta-human problems, of course. “So you want me to what— _freeze_ the problem, protect you from them if anything goes wrong?” That seemed unlikely, Barry hadn’t exactly liked Len’s version of protection with Deadline. But Barry nodded and he found himself suddenly angry, stood up to face him straight on and let some of it leech into his voice, “First rule of business, always protect _yourself_.”

Barry looked away as he said it, clearly remembering the same thing Len was. He wasn’t having any of this shit. He stalked around the table, slid his hand along it while keeping his hard eyes on Barry, “I’m not just gonna’ help usher _your_ enemies out of town.”

He tried to walk past then, done with this stupid conversation, but the other grabbed his arm and his reaction was immediate—angry, jolted by the touch. He rounded on Barry and just held in from baring his teeth but the brunet was already talking,

“Hey, they’re not just my enemies—they’re your enemies too,” voice insistent, tight and low, gravelly. He tried to ignore how tense it was, and shot back sharp words with venom,

“I doubt it.”

They might have been his enemies if he and Barry were a team, partners, but Barry had burned that chance and they didn’t have mutual enemies, not now. The other must have seen the fire in his eyes because he dropped his hold on Len’s arm and looked away for a second to compose his thoughts. When he turned to meet Len's gaze again, it was with a more open expression, imploring, switching tactics.

“They will destroy Central City,” Barry spoke soft but measured, and they were so close he could smell the other’s unique scent, the ocean, the electricity. It set him on edge. He turned his head so he could just see the other out of the corner of his eye, still ready to walk away.

“It’s not my problem,” but he didn’t move, and let Barry get right into his space, closer still, unafraid as ever, ready to challenge him. He missed this, the undaunted stance of the speedster in his space, body wanting to indulge even though his head and the ache in his chest told him to leave.

“You said that you love it here—that this is your home,” Barry wouldn’t let him look away and Len had no intentions of backing down.

“I do and it is.”

“Well guess what—these people get loose and there won’t be a city to love anymore,” he let that sink for a second before a hint of his charm snuck back in, almost teasing, “You won’t be able to rob anybody if everyone is dead.”

The sentiment hung in the air and Barry looked, for a second, hopeful. It maddened him. He felt his own eyebrows draw down for a moment as he looked down to the familiar neck, the hollow between his clavicles. Len knew he was going to agree. It annoyed him, half because this was the same way he’d convinced Barry to fight Deadline, appealing to his personality, what he enjoyed, as Barry knew him well enough to appeal to his love of Central City, and then come around and make it about the chase, the game.

“It’s a compelling argument,” he conceded, moving away and pulling out a pen. He tried to convince himself that he was agreeing for that reason and not because it was Barry asking. The least he could do was make the other squirm first, coming up to the nearest napkin to write on, decision made. “If I’m gonna’ help you out, I’ll need something in return.”

Barry came over to the table after a second of hesitation. “Like what?” at last, he sounded resigned, a little afraid. What did he think Len was gonna’ ask?

“Like this.”

He slid the napkin over to Barry, an exorbitant fee written on it. At least it would give Scarlet an idea of what he was usually making on a gig. He knew the other would balk, and he did, taking a second to see that Len was serious, and then immediately scoffing, “No—wha—ah—this is _impossible_. I can’t _do_ that.”

Of course he couldn't, Len knew that much. “Then I can’t help you.” Part of him really wished the other man would actually back off, that if he put enough ice in his voice then Barry would turn around and say ‘okay, thanks anyway.’

Of course, he wasn’t that lucky, and Barry wasn’t that easy to give up. “Wh—There has to—” he was gearing up to a shout, stopped and lowered his voice, eyes wide, just barely on this side of totally desperate, “Snart, there _has_ to be something you want that I can get.”

The last names were out. He exhaled leaned forward on his elbows, almost about to say ‘ _no_ ’ thanks to that, but at the last minute decided on, “Let me think about it.”

Then he turned and walked away, not ready to deal with this situation for another second because, fuck that response was as good as yes. But how could he not pause to consider it--Barry had just offered to _steal_ for him. He must be really out of options and it had made him pause, made him wonder what could get the other so worked up and stretched thin that he came here, to Len, asking for favors when he must have known that bridge was burned. And what could Len possibly want in Central City that he couldn’t just steal for himself? What could the Flash’s provide for him he couldn't get elsewhere?

And that thought turned his mind to an interesting place. Barry selling his speed wasn’t too far from selling his body, if he thought about it, though it might be a little off-color if he asked Barry for sex, given their history. Part of him wondered if the other would have said yes, and seeing his desperation, Len suspected the answer was a yes. But though he most definitely wasn’t above paying for sex, he was pretty sure he’d hate every minute of fucking Barry under those conditions, knowing the other didn’t want it, want him. A vengeful part of him wondered if it might not be worth it if it was awful for Barry as well, but mostly it just put bile in his throat to consider. He’d had enough attempts at transacted sex for one month.

No, there must be something that the Flash could do for him, and he would definitely figure out what.

 

*************

 

Len walked away and Barry stood there, tension in every line of his body. What if the other man didn’t help? What if the metas escaped and started hurting innocent people? What if Len _did_ help, and what if he asked for something awful from him? After his parting comment, he felt fairly confident that the other would help, but not at all confident in what the price was going to be.

His stomach roiled at the thought and he wished a shot of hard liquor could help steady him right now. Cold as Ice was playing and it was gonna’ give him a headache any minute now. Did Len put that on right before he got here? Or was it an uncomfortable freak coincidence, the universe trying to tell him something? When he looked around and caught the bartender eyeing him he finally left, stalking out of there now that Len—now that Snart—was out of his sight. Then he burst off and away, back to STAR Labs, wasting no time of their precious few hours until the accelerator turned back on, until Wells finished whatever nightmare it was he had started.

First order of business, give Cisco and Caitlin a heads up. He slowed down before hitting the cortex and entered at a normal, less disruptive pace. Both of them were intently focused on something but looked up when he arrived.

“Any good news?”

“Caitlin, hey, kind of…”

Her expression was prompting, Cisco still focused on the weird device from Wells’ chair, the one that was apparently going to allow them to transport the meta-humans.

“So… ARGUS has a plane and they’re going to come and pick up the meta-humans.”

“Oh thank God,” she sighed and relaxed a bit. “Is Oliver going to help with transport?”

“Not quite. That’s the thing, he’s in the middle of nowhere I’ve heard of, doing… something. I don’t know. And the D.A. won’t give us a police convoy, she doesn’t want anything to do with this.”

“So…?”

“So... I asked Leonard Snart for help?” He phrased it as a question, wincing at the end.

Cisco dropped the screwdriver he was using. Oops.

“You did what?!” Caitlin could go from zero to sixty in two seconds. Not that he blamed her, but it really wasn’t helping.

“I, uh, asked Leonard Snart to be our transport guard.”

“Barry, why on earth would you do that? After everything that happened with Deadline, after he murdered someone right in front of you—you said you’d never want anything to do with him again!”

He had said that, had definitely come back to STAR Labs after the fight and said those words exactly. Bone weary, smelling of his own bile and blood, the stench of smoke and ash clinging to the parka he was still wearing, too hot but unfeeling, he’d dropped down to sit on the side of the treadmill, shoulders shaking, head in his hands. Caitlin had rubbed circles into his back while he cried and apologized, telling him not to blame himself. It had been a _really_ rough night, and they hadn’t talked about it since.

“And I didn’t—I don’t!” he tried to protest and his voice was too high, took in a breath and ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I don’t know what kind of options you think we have but—”

“Why not _no_ transport guard?”

“Because if the metas get loose then it’s you and Cisco who get hurt and I’m not willing to risk that!”

He shouted, words bursting from him and she took a step back, expression tight and hurt. It was Cisco who broke the tension, turning around to finally look at them.

“Look, guys—what’s done is done. If Barry's already asked, then if Cold helps us, it's fine. If not, then we’ll figure something else out.”

Caitlin whipped her head around to stare at him instead and Barry could have kissed him for the save, and the support. “Are you out of your mind, after everything he’s done—”

“We’ve worked with him before—”

“And he betrayed Barry’s trust! Our trust! He’s hurt all of us!”

Barry winced and shared a look with Cisco. This was about more than Snart, the specter of Wells looming heavy in the lab. But they had to focus, and Leonard was the present concern. To be honest, Barry had never understood Cisco’s ability to work alongside Cold so easily, back with Deadline around and now this. He’d wanted to ask about it, then and now, but never really found the right time.

“Yes, he did,” he said when Cisco stayed silent, “but this time we’re gonna’ pay him, make it even, quid pro quo.” Len respected quid pro quo, that much he knew at least.

“And what, exactly, are you paying him?”

Caitlin shot him  her most judgmental stare and it almost made him blush. He was pretty sure she had no idea what she was making him think of. “I don’t know yet, he’ll let us know when he decides.”

Cisco whistled low. “You are in for some big trouble, Barr.”

Caitlin threw her arms like he was a lost cause and when back to what she was doing, assisting their resident tech-genius with Wells’ future-chair. And that was pretty much that, they were back in their own little world and nothing more had to be said about it.

There was nothing he could do to make himself useful until Joe arrived from his shift, so he set to pacing, trying to think of the metas and the best route out of the city. Trying to think of anything but Len. Anything. Anything but his voice, the rich drawl, at times low and teasing and at times all hard, rough. Anything but his eyes, ice blue and unrepentantly staring at Barry, sizing him up the dim light of the bar. Anything but his hands, playing with a pool ball, sliding along the surface of the table, or the split second of electricity when he’d grabbed Len’s arm. Anything at all other than how much he missed the man, other than this gaping hole he felt whenever he thought of Len, the one that had him waking up at odd hours of the night with tears on his face, the one that had him waking from heated dreams about the other's kisses, his touch, only to rise and bite his own lip till it bled under a cold shower because he  _couldn't_  think about that, not anymore, not after—and he'd just been getting better, focused on Wells and finding Eddie and Iris learning the truth, and now all he could do was think about Len again and it  _hurt_.

And then Joe wandered in and took one look at his face and asked him, "What happened now?" 

Barry rushed to tell him that he’d invited Cold, because it was a distraction, because talking about Len was different than thinking about him. Joe was, maybe not surprisingly, pissed. He barely had the chance to say he’d talked to Len when his foster father blew up, asking if he was out of his mind, how he could be so stupid. He knew what Joe was thinking, that Barry was just doing this because of his history with Len, but he really, really wasn’t. He had no other options and how could Joe not see how badly he needed to protect Cisco and Caitlin and him? And he was half certain that Joe was about to ramp into a speech about protecting him and so he kept talking, justifying his position, the logic of his choices. They were rational choices, dammit, ones made to protect people in the only way he could.

"Like it or not, Snart, with his Cold gun, is the  _only_ one who can stop them if Cisco's transportation does not hold!"

But of course, that’s when Leonard just had to show up, the timing of his dramatic entrances never seeming to fail. “Then lucky for you I’ve figured out what it is you can get me.” His voice was loud and sure, wearing the parka and it must be a new one because Barry was pretty sure the old one burned to a crisp.

Before he could speak, Len was saying hi to Joe—and did he have to remind Joe of the last time they’d seen one another, really?—but at least his father hadn’t started shooting yet, gun out though. Actually, he said hi to everyone except Barry while he wandered into the room, cocksure and curious, looking around a lot more than his first visit to the lab, no doubt more relaxed with Wells out of the picture.

Wait, had he heard that Wells was out of the picture? Barry hadn’t told him yet and—

“I thought about your proposal,” Len continued, cutting into his thoughts, looking around as he spoke. Then he went on to list what he wanted—fingerprints, DNA, data, files, everything about him. “Everything in this world concerning Leonard Snart, I want it destroyed.” He drawled it, sharp on the ‘t’s and slow around the vowels, drawing out the sounds and standing before Barry’s suit, frankly staring. Then he turned to look at the real thing, never breaking his monologue, crystal clear in his expectations. He stared at Barry until he lifted his eyes, already starting to nod, interrupted when Joe interjected, “The brass on this dude. You really think we’d do that for you?”

Barry didn’t hesitate, voice soft and sure. “I’ll do it. If it’s the only way, fine.” His voice almost faltered on the last syllable, abruptly looking down. It was suddenly hard to hold Len’s gaze, wishing there _were_ other ways, wishing Len could just be by his side, that this gulf between them didn’t hurt so much.

He felt a prod at his arm and Joe was demanding he step into the other room. It didn’t matter, he nodded at Len, assuring him he’d made up his mind. He could feel the other’s eyes on him as he stepped aside and into the other room, making sure the door was closed behind him. Len didn't need to hear this.

“What is wrong with you?!” It was the second time Joe had asked that tonight. Wasn’t it obvious? “You can’t just erase Snart’s criminal records!”

“Yeah I can,” his hands were on the back of his head as he hopped onto the treadmill, putting distance between him and Joe. “And I’ll do whatever I have to do.” And he would. He had to. No one else was going to die while he could stop it, die because of him—not five metas, not Joe and Cisco and Caitlin, not _anyone_.

So when Joe suggested that “There’s gotta’ be a different way to do this,” he blew up, demanded to know what it was because didn’t Joe think he would take it, if there was?

“Tell me what it is and we’ll do it! We’re running out of time!” He shouted and turned his back, face hot. His breathing was too heavy and he was too on edge, everything too close to the surface. Seeing Len again, in the parka, Cold and _cold_ , demanding, it just made this all so much harder to deal with than it had been before, and it hadn’t been easy before. He tried to ignore Joe’s voice, asking what was going on, telling him that working with Len—with that killer—wasn’t who he was but Joe was wrong—didn’t he know he was _wrong_ —

So he snapped, shouted, rounded on Joe—“Who I am is the guy who’s not _fast enough_ to stop Wells!"—and pin-pointed his anger to a safer target, Harrison Wells, the one's who fault this really was. “He hasn’t been one step ahead of us, Joe—he’s been a thousand. I can’t catch him—I can’t beat him! What I can do is save those people down there. Wells turned them into what they are”—what he was—“and I’m pretty sure he does not care if they live or die. I do.”

He was in Joe’s face with fire and bluster and then his anger was spent. But that’s all he had to say and he wasn't interested in Joe's response so he stepped aside, too on edge, trying to unstop the tightness in his throat. He’d worked with ‘that killer’ before and he’d do it again if he had to, to save lives. To save the lives of innocent people, and the ones he cared about, and the ones he was responsible for, had taken responsibility for when he locked them up. He would work with a killer because Barry had blood on his hands too, now, whether or not Joe wanted to recognize that.

After all, Barry had been the one to slap Deadline with the phase-defier, he’d been the one to watch, on his hands and knees, vomiting bile and blood, head pounding and vision blurred but then clearing fast, mind sifting through fog to be quickly aware—so _aware_ —watching Len grapple, punch, roll and punch more, visceral, almsot manic, slamming the other man to the ground, wiping blood off his face, red to match the suit that matched Barry’s, red like the tripolymer pants he was still wearing. And Barry was the one to _watch_ and do _nothing_ as Len punched until his fists were split and then for a second stop, and part of him had been ready to stand, then, to finish this and take Deadline into the pipeline but then Len _pressed_ and he heard a wet sound, a last breath, and he had just _watched_ _and_   _let it happen_. He watched this man, this man he trusted, this man he shared his bed and his body and his _heart_ with, he watched his lover kill another human being and he didn’t move an inch, fingers vibrating and ready to rush in but then he’d pressed them into the dirt of the floorboards beneath him and _stayed still_ , the space of a millisecond would be all it took but he didn’t move and then there was a _sickening_ sound and it was done. It was done because of him.

Barry closed the door behind him and walked into the cortex with Len staring at him. Caitlin and Cisco were working away, clearly trying to pretend Captain Cold wasn't right behind them. Len was staring at him as he came out of the room and stood there, tense, eyes red-rimmed as he tried to push away the intrusive thoughts.

“I’ll do it.”

He couldn’t look at the other man as he said it, walked passed him toward the corridor. “I need to wait until the precinct is closed, just let me get a program off one of our flash drives to sweep your files—” Felicity had provided them with a whole array of programs and viruses and he knew one that would do the trick, but the boxes of drives, tech, hacks, and the various other things she left were down the hall in storage. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Hmm, I think your friends would rather I join you than wait here with them.”

Barry looked up sharp toward Cisco and Caitlin, who looked at him for a half second before down again, clearly pretending they weren’t listening to this conversation. Shit. This was not what he needed right now. He needed space, couldn’t handle Len there, not then. But he just exhaled and kept walking, the other falling into step with him. And this was fine. If he could handle that dive bar then he could handle this. Len close, right by his side, parka just barely brushing his arm as they walked in silence. As they did it occurred to him that Len could have asked for more. A lot more. His files, records, Barry didn’t hesitate. The thought of what he’d been willing to do terrified him, just a little. What his fight with Wells was turning him into.

He turned abruptly into the room with the extra tech and gear and moved swiftly toward a shelf at the back of the room, Len staying by the door and he could finally breathe. He started to rummage around the boxes until he found the one he was looking for, ignoring the feeling of Len’s eyes on his back.

“You going to tell me what’s really going on around here, Scarlet?”

His fingers stalled. Was there any point hiding it? “Wells—he made his move.”

“Do tell,” he drew out the syllable and Barry heard him step into the room but didn’t turn. He pulled the box forward.

“He’s turning the particle accelerator back on and we can’t stop it. If we don’t move the meta-humans, they die.”

"Move them where?"

"Lian Yu. It's an island in the north Pacific, it has a facility for things like this. I mean people, dangerous people." His fingers were flipping through the box.

"And you can't just turn off the accelerator?"

"Less than sixteen hours till it's back on and not much we can do about it." He found the the right drive and pulled it up to examine.

“And you can't get Dr. Wells to stop it because he’s too fast for you to catch?”

He whipped around, heart racing. How did—

“Relax, Scarlet—I figured it out weeks ago.”

“Wha— _how_?”

“I do have a view of this place, you know. I couldn’t help but notice more than one speedster was coming in and out. It wasn’t too hard to put two and two together,” he started to come further into the room then, casting a glance around as he spoke.

“And you didn’t think to _say anything_?!”

It was, admittedly, a really stupid thing to say. His eyes widened and he almost started forward as if he could take the words back by catching them. That was also stupid. The look Len was giving him, less stupid. More… caustic.

“Len, I—“

“Do not call me that,” he almost growled the words, teeth bared, his movements now deliberate as he stalked forward toward Barry, “Do not think for one instant that you can call me that after almost six fucking weeks. Why didn’t I say anything, Scarlet? Why don’t you guess?”

As Len pressed in toward him, Barry stepped back, nowhere to go, his back and shoulders hitting the shelf behind him and he pushed instinctively back against it, away from the cold and restrained fury Len was wielding in his eyes. He wasn’t afraid, not in the sense that Len would hurt him, but on a more base level, his body knowing Len was a predator, one he didn't actually want to fight, not right now, stretching out against the shelf instead.

“Look, I—”

“Enough. I’m not interested in your excuses, Flash.”

He swallowed and shut his mouth with a click, a frission of electricity going through his fingers. His eyebrows drew together and he looked at Len, knowing the pain on his face was showing, that there was no point in masking the _hollow_  wound in his chest the moment, the one that had reopened the instant he’d seen Len’s fury, the pain behind it. It was the same pain he himself been carting around for weeks, empty hole in him no matter how he tried to fill it, no sense of closure, no comfort, just a mess of churning guilt in his stomach, sluggish mornings and racing thoughts at night, too many lies to his friends, too many lies to himself. He knew it wasn’t healthy and he knew it was so much more than Len, was a mix of the pain and the deception and Wells and Iris and the metas but God it was too easy to pinpoint the last time he’d felt _happy_ and it was the last time Len had touched him like he was precious.

So when Len arched an eyebrow at him, eyes still sharp but calculating, drew closer instead of farther, into his space, Barry let him advance. The air went out of the room when Len was a foot away, and then less, each of them still for a heavy and oppressive second until Len's hand came out to stop just before touching, a fraction from Barry’s stomach, hair’s breadth from the cotton of his shirt. Then Len’s fingers drifted upward above the fabric, up until the fingers were so close to his jaw that he could feel the air move with just a whisper on his skin, enough to direct his mouth forward but not enough for him to really feel it, barely static electricity. The other leaned in, still grazing the space just a millimeter away from him, eyes not leaving Barry’s, holding him transfixed, immobile as soft lips came to rest almost on his now. He barely dared to breathe, sharing the air, any movement would take him rocking into Len, his own knuckles white on the shelf behind him. Time stood still.

“You would too, wouldn't you, just let me if I wanted to?”

The words were whispered against his lips and he felt like he might break, cracks along each seam, each joint and muscle and tendon pulled too taught, hard like brittle glass.

Barry couldn’t answer. Didn’t want to know what the answer would be. Len—Snart, Cold—he chuckled and it was not a pleasant sound but it rippled against his lips nonetheless and he gripped the shelf tighter, tried hard not to shudder, not to let out a sound.

“You’d let me kiss you?” his hand ghosted over Barry’s neck then down, along his side, just barely catching the fabric of his shirt on it's descent. He almost wished he hadn’t grabbed onto such a high shelf because it left him feeling altogether too exposed right now, as both of Len’s hands settled heavy on his hips, a grounding force so opposite to the feather-light touch of his lips. Those same lips that now moved toward Barry’s ear, his jaw grazing along the side of Barry’s own, there and not there. He clenched his hands on the hard metal shelf to retain the shiver it sent up his spine. “You'd let me fuck you?” The voice was low and dark in his ear. God, what was Len playing at? If he wanted to fuck him then he should just—“Here, where anyone can walk in, where Caitlin or Cisco or _Joe_ could wander in at any moment, find out what’s taking so long.”

Right, fuck, right, they were in STAR labs, the door was open. But then Len’s lips pressed against his neck, right below his ear and he felt them just barely pucker, graze over his flesh in a kiss that finally was more than a whisper, but his body too tight with electricity, feeling every groove and dip in the skin of Len’s lips, the slight bead of moisture on them, the gentle air that escaped between them, the way his pulse fluttered too fast under them. He might break.

“You should really be more careful with your rendezvous, Barry.”

And then he turned and was trudging across the room. “Now come on, you’ve got records to destroy and I have a call to make.”

Barry let out a shuddering breath. Hard to believe the evening was only just beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a writing frenzy and I've rewatched this episode more times than is healthy, trying to get down each detail of their movement, expressions, voices. I think technically this level of integration is probably straight-up plagiarism, but we're going with it because I want to connect this with canon. Also, I tried to explain some stuff that the episode didn't have time to touch on, like how Cisco and Caitlin didn't blink when Barry was arguing with Joe about Leonard, or how Leonard has so much information about the situation (it's implied he's briefed on the details at some point in the episode, I'm just making it more explicit).
> 
> And aaaargh. These two. They slay me. You can tell Barry is trying to find the right word for Len, calling him every possible name he has for him, sometimes in the same sentence. :( 
> 
> Already working on the next instalment but I'm working on some drabbles and other stuff too, courtesy of some awesome prompts I received. Anyway, my goal is to finish up with Rogue Air-related stuff pretty much before or when the next episode comes out, so I can jump into deciding how to handle the events of the finale.


	19. But darling, don’t you know not to deal with the devil by now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len ensures that Barry knows exactly who he is and what he is capable of

 

 

Len phoned his sister and let her know what was going on. He’d called her earlier, after the Flash showed up, to give her a heads up that they might be busy this evening and to keep her schedule clear. She’d been intrigued, excited at the prospect of a job, and now when he gave her the details—

“You want to work with that red-suited asshole _again_ , Lenny? What kind of sucker for punishment are you?”

“My criminal records, Lisa—DNA, internet, ARGUS—all of it. Don’t tell me it’s not a fair trade.”

“You don’t need that stuff, Lenny, you’re a master _with_ them knowing who you are.”

Ah, flattery. “Then imagine how much better I’ll be without my face in any database—can hop on a plane without thinking twice, hell I could walk into the CCPD and they’d have nothing on me.”

“ _Don’t_ tempt fate like—”

“I’m not an idiot, Sis.”

She mumbled something that sounded a little too much like ‘could have fooled me’ into the phone and he glared at nothing.

“Look, are you in or not?”

“What’s in this for me, anyway?”

He was glad she wasn’t in front of him and couldn’t see his smirk, though she’d probably hear it in his voice regardless. “Cisco will be there.”

There was a pause on the other end and he could work through her thought process—pleased to see Cisco or pissed that Len was holding that as bait for this job.

“You’re a jerk, Lenny.”

“I know. But now that you’re on board, I do have something else that might interest you about this plan.”

She _hmm_ ’d at him from the other end of the line, and he un-holstered his cold gun and placed it on the table before him, cradling the phone against his shoulder as he did.

“If at all possible, we’re going to ruin it.”

“ _Oh_?” That caught her attention.

He was nodding, not that she could see it. “I haven’t told you yet about the cargo we’re transporting, and I have an inkling that you’ll feel the same way I do about it.” He shifted his grip on the phone to cradle it in his shoulder, hands free to clean the gun, taking it apart as he continued to speak, “There are other meta-humans, like Deadline was, and the Flash—people with powers. If you recall, the Flash keeps them in a prison, locked up in the pipeline under STAR Labs.”

“Oh Lenny, don’t tell me—”

“We’re being asked to deliver those people to an airfield where they’ll be taken to an even _more_ remote prison somewhere in the Pacific ocean near China—” Lisa swore on the other end but he kept talking, gloved fingers deftly spreading out the disassembled pieces in their familiar pattern. “—but I have no intention of seeing that they arrive there. The Flash has some rather… _naïve_ views on prison, I gather, and believes he’s doing these people a favor by moving them now.”

“A favor?! Who the hell does he think he is—did those people even get a _trial_?! I thought that pipeline was some temporary gimmick of his!”

He winced and switched the phone ears after her shout. He had been under that impression as well. “In either case, he’s trying to ensure they don’t die, as apparently some trouble is being cooked up at S.T.A.R. Labs.” He didn’t tell her about the particle accelerator going online, mostly because it had been alarming enough the first time and there was nothing they could do about it at this point. There were more important things to focus on. His fingers picked up the next piece of the gun, one of the cold cylinders, chill through his gloves as he wiped it down.

“Our goal, Lis, is to sabotage whatever they cook up for transport and ensure those prisoners escape— _preferably_ without hurting the Flash or his teammates.” As if Lisa was about to let some meta-human hurt the boy she was crushing on. Still, it was worth explicitly outlining. "By the end of the evening, we should have some new friends."

“And can I ask, Lenny, how exactly your sordid little romance with the Flash fits into all this, after he finds out you’ve stabbed him in the back?”

He ground his teeth, sliding the cold cylinder into its compartment with a click. “There’s nothing to fit, Lisa. I’m Captain Cold to the Flash; I’ll play the part.”

She hummed and disconnected the call.

A short hour later he was standing in the evening chill, behind the restaurant he used to visit with his grandfather, he and Lisa together. It was right across the road from the CCPD’s main precinct, the one Barry worked at, the one containing everything the police had on him, with access to more. Lisa was in the shadows, leaning in a doorway with her arms crossed. At the very least, she’d been pleased when he told her she got to make the dramatic entrance this time, a wicked smile curling on her lips. He was pretty sure she'd learned that expression from him, since neither of their mothers had been around enough to teach it to either of them and their father didn't smile, wicked or otherwise. He found it nice to have things in common with her still, even if those things happened to be a flair for the dramatic and a penchant for criminal activity. Apparently, she was even going to try again to get Cisco to give her a codename, finding as much fun in this as Len did.

And then Barry was there, dropping a box, then gone again in a gust of wind. He let himself grin, eyes flashing toward Lisa. How many boxes would there be? Apparently, four. Barry dropped the last one in front of him, assuring him that his virus had deleted every trace of Len from the internet, every entry on him in every database. It was, for a very brief moment, humbling, and he drew in a deep breath through his nose as he stared down at the boxes. He was disappearing, the last scraps of physical evidence before him, and all he’d had to do was ask.

“Good.”

Lisa blasted it with her gold gun. Barry looked alarmed for a brief second and he fought the urge to smirk, keeping his face impassive as she came out of the shadows. It was definitely fun to watch someone else’s entrances, almost as fun as making his own.

“I hear we’re all going to be working together,” Lisa had that coy quality to her voice and he played along.

“That’s right, Sis— _partners_ ,” he rejoined, finally letting his dark smile surface, eyes flicking to Barry, intent. He didn’t miss that the word made the other’s jaw flex, a slow and apprehensive nod at him and Lisa. He wasn’t above enjoying seeing the Flash squirm a little. Keeping him off balance would only make the rest of his plan easier.

“Shall we? S.T.A.R. Labs isn’t that close to the precinct, and I gather that you’re on the clock, Flash?”

It actually was a short drive there. Lisa rode on his motorcycle on the way to the lab, in part because it would be easier to only have one vehicle between the two of them, letting her insinuate herself in the midst of Barry’s friends in case anything went wrong. She’d never been to the lab though, and she was excited when they pulled up, Barry outside and directing them to a parking garage with a huge truck inside, “Ramon Shipping” on the side. He was pretty sure he knew what their plan for transport was.

“So this is where the magic happens?” she hopped off the bike with grace in stiletto heeled boots that he never could fathom.

“That’s one way to put it.” Barry was waiting by a door leading into the lab, wasting no time in walking them through the long halls into what Len knew as their workspace. The Flash band of do-gooders were waiting for them, and in the space of a few paces—not looking around this time, eyes intent on the three people before him—they were face to face with Caitlin Snow, Cisco, and Joe West.

He didn’t miss the fact that Barry stood on their side, between him and Lisa, and let Len stand across from the detective. Bad choice. It wasn’t often he got to go toe to toe with CCPD’s finest without having to worry about being arrested. He met the man’s gaze in what immediately became a contest, neither looking away, Len with just a hint of dark amusement, knowing how much the good detective must hate his presence there, Barry standing next to him. 

“Please tell me this is a joke,” Snow was the first to break the silence, sounding a combination of alarmed and exasperated, and she’d seen Len earlier so it must be the addition of Lisa setting her on edge.

“Oh! You were right Lenny—she _is_ very uptight.” His slid his eyes to Lisa for a half second before smirking back at West. She was having fun with this, egging the other woman on. He wondered for a second if she was just doing it because Cisco hadn’t looked her way yet, but regardless she had his unequivocal approval, knowing how fun it was to wind up this particular group of individuals. He was doing pretty much the same thing with West, using his own expression to push the man's buttons. He hoped the detective was thinking about how readily Barry agreed to his terms, how easily Len could make him dance. Maybe he should have gone further with Barry earlier, made a mark that West would see—

“I am not uptight,” Dr. Snow’s voice was even tighter, if possible, and he didn’t take his eyes from West but did have to suppress a grin when Barry didn’t come to her aid. Oh yes, him standing on the Snart side of the room was affecting his loyalty, consciously or unconsciously.

“You can’t call me uptight,” the doctor decided. He knew Lisa had a hairpin trigger and would probably respond in a way they'd regret, but Barry saved them all from by imploring for some peace,

“Look, guys, we need their help if we’re gonna’ pull this off.”

“Why are you wearing your mask? Snart already knows who you are.” 

“And I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone, that includes my sister.” He lied through teeth, his only ‘tell’ that he looked to the side and he caught himself doing it, quickly switching to say it straight to Caitlin, schooling his expression into something softer since she was so easy to spook.

“Jerk,” Lisa helped sell it and he smiled at her, indulgent “Train wreck.” And oh, Lisa looked frosty at that, but Snow was looking like she wanted to be anywhere but in this conversation and he was satisfied they’d sold it.

“Don’t look so surprised, detective,” he turned back to West’s unimpressed expression, the flat gaze of the other man clearly disbelieving, “I am a man of my word.”

“Yeah, you better be—'r I’ma make sure you on that plane too.” Was the detective aware how drawled his speech became when making empty threats? Len smiled at him, tight and far from reassuring. At least someone close to Barry wasn’t a total idiot.

They broke then and he went in the opposite direction of Joe West, hoping for a second alone to examine the transport but Barry followed him. He heard Lisa sidling up to Cisco as he exited the room and almost smiled at her, would have had it not been for Barry at his side.

“Can I help you?”

“We should talk about the meta-humans.”

He stopped walking and turned to Barry, waiting for him to continue.

“You should know what they do, in case…”

It was actually a good point. He’d done enough research on the Flash’s escapades that he had some idea of what he might be up against, but more information would be an asset.

“Do tell.”

And he did—five people with powers, one who could manipulate weather, storms and the like, one who could turn into a poisonous mist (that might be trouble), one who could make people angry (apparently not to be underestimated), a guy who could shoot lasers (okay, this was starting to sound insane), and a girl who can teleport herself around. That one, at least, sounded like something he was used to with respect to meta-humans, but aside from her having a mean streak Barry wasn’t worried about her.

“You do realize that this is insane, don’t you?”

Barry blew out a breath and brought a hand up to scratch the back of his head before seeming to realize he was still wearing the cowl, dropping the arm to let out a little laugh, “Yeah, yeah I know.”

“The mist one—”

“Nimbus—I can take care of him if something goes wrong, don’t worry. It’s Deathbolt and Weather Wizard—”

“Did Cisco choose all of these names?”

He ignored the warm feeling in his chest when Barry let out a real laugh. “Yeah, he’s pretty particular about that, hates it when me or Caitlin comes up with one. She called Bivolo—the angry one?—Rainbow Raider and he’s still complaining about it.”

He caught himself smiling and looked to the side. Well, at least Lisa would be pleased if she did get the genius to give her an alias.

“Speaking of Cisco, I should get him to give us all some info on the transport.”

Oh perfect, just what he needed. “I’ll meet you in the garage?”

Barry nodded and turned back the way they had come, Len picking up his step as he headed to the truck, wanting to get an eye for it before anyone else was around, knowing he’d need as much time as he could get to sabotage whatever Cisco Ramon had come up with. He hoped his experience with Cisco’s weapons would be enough to help on that front.

The truck had a yellow glow to it, eerie as hell. Len climbed in without hesitation, making his way to the back and looking around at things. Aside from being slightly disturbing, there was nothing in here that would work to his favor, the mechanism clearly placed outside somewhere—intelligent, Cisco. He heard voices and went to join the others at the back end of the truck.

They were all there, then, for Cisco’s explanation of the mechanism. It was clearly lost on Joe West but he wasn’t sad at all that the man had asked for more detail, listening intently. Cooling system, energy damper, easy enough. Find the cooling system’s energy source and tamper with it. And then Lisa offered to drive. Perfect. They would become integral to this little plan, and she would get her time alone with Cisco. This was too easy, it was almost hard to keep his poker face.

Then Barry picked up talking, a natural sense of leadership now that the details were in place, directing his little group to start moving the meta-humans. Cisco and Caitlin started moving, Joe West behind them, but Barry stayed put as they moved off, a straggler, and he noticed again that the Flash had stayed with him and Lisa rather than move along with his friends. But Len needed to act now, and he needed to be alone to do it, knowing it might take a few minutes to sort out the cooling system.

He gave Lisa the signal, a crick of his neck from side to side. She nodded at him surreptitiously, and then smiled, altogether too sweet. “Flash, darling, a word?”

“Uhh…”

Barry shot him a nervous glance and Len wondered suddenly if he shouldn’t have given her some instructions on what to say, other than “when I give the signal, distract whoever’s around as necessary.” He generally trusted her to improvise just fine, their craft well-honed, but he hadn’t really considered leaving her alone to chat with his pseudo-ex. Did it count as exes if it was never defined? Either way, nothing to do for it now except shoot her a warning glance as she looped her arm into Barry’s and dragged him toward the hallway. Len stood to lean against the inside of the truck and made himself look casual when Barry cast a nervous glance back over his shoulder and then was gone from sight.

Then Len set to work, hopping out of the back and locating the cooling system’s access panel, tracing it to an energy source unlike anything he’d seen. Cisco had said something about Wells’ chair? Either way, the technology was probably a bit beyond him so he left that part alone, focusing on the corded pipes connecting into and out of the enhanced battery. Bingo—it looked almost identical to the attachments surrounding the cylindrical chamber of his cold gun, the one that housed the absolute zero cell.

He thought hard for a second, still hearing no sign of anyone coming. He wanted to ensure they made it to the airfield, easiest to keep things simple if they were out of the city and away from the bystanders and the buildings. Ideally, he wanted the system to hold long enough for ARGUS to arrive and provide backup to Barry so he could get out of there without having to worry about him and his friends. So he needed to make sure it had _some_ power and did what it was supposed to, but that it would slowly drain away, like a leak in the system. He hoped Cisco was consistent with his designs across platforms and pulled out two pipes, just enough to hear a gentle hiss. The lights didn’t even flicker, and his only concern was that it wouldn't work fast enough, but if it _was_ like his gun, this was the best projection.

Then he closed it up and moved to sit again on the end of the truck, ultimately helping load the five unconscious prisoners as everyone returned. Barry refused to look at him and he wondered what kind of hell he was going to have to give Lisa for her little chat, then realized in an hour it really wouldn’t matter. If Barry didn’t hate him before, he definitely would now.

And he surprised himself by how much that thought still hollowed him out, dropping the last body into the truck. He’d been doing so well at _not_ thinking about it since Barry had shown up at his bar, focusing on the task at hand, the transport, what he could get out of it, how he could sabotage it—the _plan_ , his professional nature taking over. But now that it was in motion, where all he had to do was wait and see what happened, his mind was free to think about it again.

To think about the way Barry pressed himself back into a shelf in a dark storage room, ready to give Len his body all over again, so reminiscent of their first kiss so many weeks ago, nervous and fierce. He’d had to pull away fast before he let himself go too far, before Barry got the bright idea to take it too far, had to remind the other man that the door was open, remind himself that they weren’t lovers anymore, that he was only pushing to see how far he could press before Barry would snap—only to realize he would snap first if he did. Because Barry had been drawing in breaths and pressing himself up just barely into Len’s fingers and he knew the other wanted it, desperate in more ways than one. It was intoxicating, how Barry desired him, still, and it seemed impossible too, for someone who so clearly despised him to place himself in such a vulnerable position, open and trusting. Too trusting. He needed to fix that, or Barry was gonna’ get himself killed. Not that it was his job to protect him anymore, but the instinct pulling deep in his gut wouldn’t let him do much else.

And then the human cargo was loaded and he was mounting his bike, ready to move out, listening to Barry's instructions. He couldn’t help but look at the other in what would probably be their last pleasant exchange—“After you.”

The cheeky smile he got in return was almost worth it.

Thoughts like that didn’t help though, so Len let the chill air hitting his face on the ride help wake him up and bring him back to earth. He was following the semi truck, ready to blast off the cold gun if things got hairy and people started jumping out the back of it. He counted the minutes, squaring them with his expectations for how long Cisco’s broken system would hold. Long enough to make it to Ferris Air, as it turned out. They pulled up and turned off the vehicles still without incident.

But when he dismounted and didn’t see a plane around, he felt a twinge of apprehension churning around his solar plexus. He moved to make some chit chat with Barry, asking about the airfield as an excuse to keep close, suppressing signs of tension. If the plane was late, his own plans might turn messy, no backup except him and Lisa for Barry’s friends. Then Joe barrelled over, practically giving voice to Len's thoughts, as impatient as he felt but not bothering to hide it. Len suddenly understood why Barry could never contain his own impatience, and wondered what other bad behaviors had he learned from Detective West? The terse exchange between the two men was informative though—the younger clearly trying to create a dialogue about the situation, his surrogate father denying him the opportunity. Bad behaviors indeed, miscommunication was modeled, after all.

“Your A.R.G.U.S. friends aren’t very _prompt_ —maybe that’s why they’ve never been able to catch me,” he said it as much to distract Barry as himself.

And thank fuck—Caitlin pointed to a plane not a second later, and then Cisco was running out of the truck and it was perfect timing. He was feeling rather pleased with himself, especially when the young genius said he didn’t know why his system wasn’t working.

“Can you do something?” Barry seemed a bit panicked but the plane was almost there.

“I’m trying!”

“Oh God,” Caitlin breathed and Len looked up, and _what_ —

“Mardon.” West didn’t even seem surprised and—

 _Ho-ly shit_. His jaw might have dropped a bit, genuine shock stopping him short for a second. Did one of the meta-humans just _take down a plane from inside the truck_? Okay, so they might have a little more power than he’d realized. Why didn’t Barry mention that the Weather kid could _shoot down planes without a line of sight_?! You’d think that was worth mentioning.

There was no time to worry about that. The door of the truck was exploding open and his plan—like it or not at this point—was in full effect. There was a moment where everyone evaluated everyone and then erupted into action. Nimbus burst into a cloud of green mist and he dodged to the side, not about to get in the way of that mess. West was shooting and he was glad, for the first time probably ever, for the presence of the other man. He watched from behind his bike, while Shawna Baez ducked out, Caitlin and Cisco hiding with West, him keeping the others at bay with gunfire, and Barry seemed to be holding his own against the mist cloud. This might turn out to be fun after all.

Then Snow freaked out and attacked Cisco, something he could more hear than see from his own hiding vantage, and West’s distraction made matters worse. Mist-man or whatever he was called was gone and Barry seemed to be okay dodging those blasts and— _fuck fuck fuck_!

Barry was _struck_ by a bolt of lightning.

Len felt his chest seize, already standing, ready to rush to his side but Barry was still moving—his chest loosened a fraction—and he heard, “Finish him, Simmons!”

He didn’t hesitate, gun powering up and then Simmons was dead, an ice crisp. Killing for Barry a second time. But Barry was groaning and he'd heal, so Len remembered his goal. He could focus. He looked toward Mardon, full persona in effect like a shield around himself, halfway grinning, “How ‘bout we call tonight a tie?”

Lisa provided the necessary backup, calm and ready, definitely the right help for this with her gun pointed to Bivolo's head.

Len walked toward the three of them, lowering his own weapon, confident he had their attention and that no one else was going to be hurting Barry. Just to be sure though, “Let’s all go our separate ways.”

Then he stopped before the two men, ready to set the penultimate bit of this little plan in motion. “My name is Leonard Snart.”

“I know who you are.” That was Mardon, and Len was pleased. That lightning trick would  _definitely_  be handy if the other could be directed.

He smiled. “Always _pleased_ to meet a fan. Just remember who it was made sure you didn’t get thrown on that plane bound for _nowhere_.” At least they’d have an idea of what he was saving them from.

“You’re just letting us go? … Why’d you shoot that guy?”

Mardon nodded at Simmons’ corpse and he couldn’t exactly say ‘because you told him to finish off my ex.’

“He owed me money,” the lie was an easy one and he could see Lisa almost laugh at it.

Weather Wizard asked if he wanted a thank you, and of course he did. Reciprocity was one of the single most powerful drivers of human nature, especially when people were unaware how it was affecting them. If they acknowledged his role in this then they were as good as his, whether they knew it or not. He was satisfied then, after Bivolo thanked him, that they were done and leaving, so he could turn toward his final order of business.

Len stepped toward Barry slowly, measured steps, cold gun at his side, pretenses melting away with each step. He felt his heartbeat start to kick up as he did, not too fast but riding the wave of the fight’s adrenaline, a heavy beat he could feel in his chest and throat. But he’d spent most of the drive over hear thinking about what he was going to say, and he was ready.

The Flash was still on the ground, gasped in pain as he tried to move to look at Len, determined as he ever was despite his obvious agony. He was speaking before Len had even stopped walking, “You sabotaged the truck, didn’t you?”

He knelt down next to the other's prone form and stared intently, not feeling the need to dignify that with an answer. They both knew he did. The other kept talking, “Why did you let them escape?” Scarlet kept trying to sit up as he talked. It would pull at this heartstrings if he let it but he didn’t, crushed that down, ready to show Barry who he really was and what he was really capable of. His smile held no warmth.

“Because now they all owe me. And something tells me they’ll be a lot more use to me as part of my Rogues than rotting away in the North China sea.”

“You gave me your word.”

Barry stopped trying to stand, genuine surprise leeching into his voice and Len chuckled. He actually chuckled. Did he still not get it?

“It’s true I did, but here’s the thing—” his voice darkened, brutal honesty, “I’m a criminal, and a liar, and I hurt people, and I rob them. What did you expect me to do—not be what I am? I saw an opportunity to turn things to my advantage and I did! Who you’re really mad at is _yourself_.” He clenched his gloved fist tight and then let it go, made sure the other was looking at him, eyes fixed. His voice low, the next words just for the two of them, “This is on you, Barry.”

Barry was a fool for ever believing Len to be something different.

“Then why didn’t you just kill me?”

He stood up, forced to his feet, the thought so discomfitting that his body wanted to put physical distance between him and it, between him and Barry’s wounded tone. It wasn’t even asked as an accusation, just frank and hollow curiousity. He actually believed Len could do that, even now? Apparently the Flash had got his message loud and clear then.

He looked down at his prone form, delivered the final blow. “Well I guess you owe me one now, too.” No mention of his care, their history.

And then he turned away, needing to be out of there. “Good luck with… all of this. I’m actually really excited to see how it all turns out.”

Cisco rushed to Barry’s side the second he was on his bike, and yeah, Barry would be just fine without him. He felt Lisa take her spot behind him.

“Bye Cisco,” Lisa’s voice was indulgent and at least someone had had some fun.

  

****************

  

Barry picked himself off the ground with Cisco’s help, still shaking. The lightning, Mardon, Deathbolt, everything running through his head. Leonard.

“Is everyone okay?”

“Bivolo got Caitlin but Joe’s restraining her.”

He nodded, then stopped, the motion too jarring. “And the metas?”

“All gone… I guess except Deathbolt.”

They both glanced down at the corpse and then away. Barry tasted blood in his mouth. “You guys’ll be okay with Caitlin?”

“Yeah man, but I mean what’re—”

“I’ll meet you back at STAR Labs,” he whispered.

He could see Joe coming toward them and he couldn’t—not now, not look into his father's face and see his disappointment. He was gone in a flash, running to the other side of the building and then stopping, clutching his stomach because it _hurt_ and he almost hurled. He forced himself past the pain, swallowing it down, eyes screwing tight against tears and he ran again, pushing himself to a breakneck speed, embracing the pain, muscles screaming at him, needing the wind, the power, anything.

It didn’t feel like enough. Too soon he was back at the lab, body mending. Too soon he was dropping into a door to the pipeline, body curling around himself as he broke down. Heavy, wet sobs heaving from his lungs, pulling at his own hair, stuck on his knees and forehead flat against the ground because he’d _tried_ , he’d tried so fucking hard and it Had. Not. Been. Enough.

Breaking into pieces because Len had betrayed him. Because whatever they were hadn't been enough.

Deathbolt was dead and the metas were out in the city and a plane full of ARGUS men was shot down and the particle accelerator would have enough energy to go online in less than an hour and his best wasn’t good enough, not when it came to Wells, not Len, not when it came to any of this. He’d been trying for _months_ to hold it all together. He’d dropped so many balls he’d tried to juggle and too many people had died along the way and he couldn’t, didn’t want to think. For five fucking minutes he just wanted silence in his head and he couldn’t find it.

Len had betrayed him and he was such an _idiot_ for hoping otherwise.

He caught his breath, ground his palms into his eyes until he saw stars and then wiped his face and sat back. There was only one thing left to do and that was wait—wait for Wells, wait for the accelerator to be fully charged, wait and try his best and pray it might be good enough this time.

He shuddered, the words _he owed me money_ , playing through his head. They were followed closely by, _and a liar_ , and the sound of his name on Len’s lips, never having sounded so cold as this.

Quid pro quo. Len had agreed to help him exchange for his files being deleted. Len had said he was a man of his word, had said that before to him in a dark alleyway, and Barry had believed him, then and now—hadn’t thought for a _second_ this would happen. He’d given Len what he wanted, he’d let him kiss his neck and he’d let himself ache for Len to go further, to do more, to touch him again like he meant it, like Barry was solid and they were solid. But Len didn’t care. He was just waiting to seize his opportunity, playing games until he did. Maybe he’d never cared.

He thought about what Lisa had said, pulling him away by his arm—and _of course_ —that must be when Len had sabotaged the truck. Mother _fucker_. Barry slammed his head back into the wall behind him. It didn’t matter if it hurt, the pain would be healed in minutes. He sighed and tried to control the way his breath shook on the exhale. Definitely more lies then—her rounding on him, sweet voice totally gone, something far more vicious in its place. She’d really sold it. ‘He still cares about you’ and ‘If you hurt him again you’ll need all of your speed to escape what I’ll do to you’ and ‘Don’t you dare lead him on’—as if Len wasn’t the one to try and kiss him. More lies. He’d stayed silent, totally unsure of what to say, because what could he do? He and Len were _done_. But her tirade had finally slowed, and she’d leaned in close to say, earnestly, ‘No matter _what_ , I promise you Len cares. Don’t be an idiot, okay?’

Barry laughed bitterly into the empty air around him. The only idiotic thing was believing she was telling the truth.

But... the thought niggled at him. _He owed me money_. Len hadn’t let him die. Len had killed Deathbolt and he didn’t think for a second that Simmons owed Len money. Killing him sure wouldn’t be the way to get it back if he did. Len was a criminal and a _liar_ and someone who hurt people. Len was a killer and a murderer. Len was all of those things and judging by the amount of files the CCPD had had on him, he was a whole lot more. But Len had protected him and hadn’t let him die. Len had killed for _him,_ again. And this time, Barry knew... he’d more or less asked him to.

He pulled his hands through his hair. He’d tried his best. He _had_ to believe that—had to believe he tried his best to keep the metas safe and to keep the city safe and to keep his friends safe. There was no going back. His hands weren’t clean and maybe they hadn’t been in a long time, maybe the best he could do was to try harder and hope, and if he was really lucky then maybe things would turn out, maybe he would stop Wells, and then maybe things between him and Len—

And he really should have taken Lisa’s advice about not being an idiot because he was, _still_. He wished he didn’t want so badly to see the best in people. He wished he didn’t feel so deeply for others, not when it left him this hollow and aching, unable to just _let go_. Unable to just let Len be a murderer and not something more to him.

Joe found him still sitting there after however long it had been. He’d lost track of time, probably. He asked after Caitlin immediately, worried, glad to hear she was fine.

“Thanks for not saying I told you so.” He meant that, he knew Joe had been telling him since the first time he heard that Barry was working with Cold, even before they had slept together and—

“But I did tell you so, repeatedly.”

Great. Just what he needed to hear. The 'repeatedly' really drove it home. But maybe he could explain it to Joe in a way that made sense to him.

“I just—man, I’ve seen the way that Oliver does things and he’s not afraid to just do whatever it takes to get what he needs…'nd I thought that I could do that too. I thought that I could just _use_ Snart but instead he just used me.”

“You’re not the Arrow, Barry." He was pretty sure he wasn’t a hero at all, didn’t feel like he could save anyone, right now, let alone the city. 

"No," he barely whispered it.

"That’s not the kind of hero you are.”

“What kind am I?” he asked, because he really, really needed to know right now.

“The kind that cares whether or not those criminals lived or died.” And Joe continued from there, and he felt good, for a minute, that he did care about the metas, that we truly wanted them to be okay. Seeing people as people was a good thing, and he'd never been like Wells. But then Joe reminding him that at least he’s good, and can come to decisions that don't blur the lines between good and bad. And isn’t that what he just did? Isn’t that what he’d been doing ever since letting Len into his life, and—

“So please, no more walks on the dark side... Agreed?”

And yes, right, of course Joe knew that. Knew that this was about a lot more than Oliver and trying to be like him. Always knew where Barry's thoughts had taken him. And what could he do but nod, agree? He’d learned his lesson, Len— _Cold—_ had made sure of it. There would be no more compromises, not like this one.

And then the siren went off. It was go time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahahaha—chokes on sobs—hahah—crying—ha-ha-ha-ha.
> 
> Oh god why. This is the longest chapter yet and it’s full of betrayal and angst and no one is even kissing in it. Why can’t we just go back to them kissing?
> 
> For real though, we’re through most of the angst. I know it doesn’t seem like it, what with Len being all “I’m gonna make sure barry thinks I’m the worst” and Barry being all “no more walks on the dark side” (wtf Joe?) and so some angst is still on its way but the boys will at least be communicating and honest now instead of stonewalling and undermining one another. Thank God.
> 
> Let’s see what curveballs I get in the finale. I might have to just ignore the episode, and either way I won’t be going into NEAR as much detail as I did with Rogue Air (two whole chapters on one episode? I’m sure you guys want me to actually get to new material instead of re-hashing canon, so we’ll do that).
> 
> For the record, I don’t think that Joe’s relationship with Barry (or Iris) is by any means the worst, but I also don’t think it’s as healthy as the three of them pretend, especially since Barry became the Flash. There’s a lot of tension, lies, general not communicating, and Joe taking this attitude toward both his kids like he can and should run their lives. Like in the pipeline scene, he tells Barry exactly what he doesn’t need to hear then twists it to be the way he “builds him up”—making him want to rely on Joe’s guidance and agree with him because he’s just been totally undercut emotionally. It’s so manipulative. I was really glad when Iris gave him hell and I wish Barry and him would have a sit down in canon and address some of their issues. =/


	20. And baby, if you’re drowning, won’t you drag me under with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This place is way too public for something this private

The last forty-eight hours had been good to Len. He’d found several new additions to his Rogues—not that they’d come around yet but there was plenty of time—and then spent his next day pulling off a heist he’d been planning. His plans had been admittedly vague for his typical style, a more spontaneous score than usual. He wanted to get back in the game since he’d been gone away and busy for too long between Deadline and Mick’s injuries. And he knew the Flash was too busy with his own messes to stop him though, and it had went off without a hitch, almost too easy.

So he was spending his evening enjoying himself, forcing his muscles to relax, mind to unwind. Playing a few games of pool with Roscoe Dillon and drinking a few beers. Of course, that was before Barry Allen had walked through the door. For a second his hackles raised, ready to defend himself lest the Flash throw out the rules of their little arrangement. But no—Barry wasn’t there to fight. Instead he looked like he belonged in some sad made-for-tv movie that was overdramatized, hair mussed, black bomber jacket on, face too tight, eyes red rimmed.

He looked like everything Len had ever and never wanted—beautiful and unbearably torn apart. He couldn’t look away, his game forgotten.

Then the enigma of the fastest, strangest man alive sat at the bar and nodded at him before turning away, totally ignoring him. He almost walked over right then but Roscoe had missed his shot and Len was up. He peeled his eyes away and returned his attention to the game, decided that the Flash could wait.

But he finished his game and started another and the kid hadn’t moved yet, making a big enough dent in his bottle of whiskey that anyone else would be getting a little slow and slurred. Len knew better. His eyes tracked Barry the only time he stood, watched him walk through the dark bar to the bathroom on steady feet, not missing that half the eyes in the place tracked his movements. Barry was too clean cut for a place like S ‘n S, clearly the only ‘Saint’ around. It set his teeth on edge that others were noticing.

But another hour passed and Barry made it to the end of his bottle. Len had had more than a few drinks himself, waitress bringing new rounds around whenever he was empty up before clocking out at two am. Len had already cajoled Ross into more games than they would usually play; he could seldom stand more than an hour in the other’s presence, as Lisa’s exes and him didn’t tend to get along too well, and stretching it out further might be odd. It was getting quiet anyway, a weeknight, the place becoming more deserted by the minute as drunks hauled one another home. It hadn’t been busy to begin with, just an ordinary Tuesday in Central City, and truth be told he was only there himself to celebrate his most recent score.

So he bade Ross goodnight and sent a glare at the only other table of stragglers. He had a reputation around here, and they made to leave as soon as he looked in their direction, effectively emptying the place. The bartender raised her eyebrows at him but didn’t comment, and Barry was still in his spot by the bar. It was apparent he was waiting for Len to make the first move. So be it.

He moved to the hickory wood bar and leaned one elbow on it, scarcely a foot away from the other man, examining his profile. Barry looked upset, harsh draw to his eyebrows, but he couldn’t care. If Red was here to chew him out, he had another think coming. It was a little late for that shit.

“I’ve gotta’ say, Scarlet, you’ve been more patient that I thought possible for you. So I’ll bite. Whad’you want?” He’d said that almost verbatim two days ago, hoped Barry wouldn't miss that fact, that it might make him think twice about being here.

Barry looked at him full on and it felt a bit like a hard punch to the gut, his poker smirk almost faltering from his face. It wasn’t some fake and overdramatic expression on his face—Barry looked _exhausted_ , worn to the bone, eyes dark underneath and red around, tight in all the wrong places.

“Harrison Wells really put you through the ringer then, kid?” it was the only explanation, and Barry laughed, bitter like he’d never heard him be. He turned away from Len and poured himself the last of what was in the bottle, a drip. It couldn’t be doing anything for him, but then he slipped a flask out of his pocket and tipped it in. Curious.

“ _Eobard Thawne_ is his real name,” Barry sucked it back like a shot. “And you have no idea.”

Thawne. Len tilted his head; he knew that name. The detective, the one dating Barry’s not-sister, West’s daughter. He was pretty sure he was missing something.

“Is that what you came here for, Red? To drink your sorrows away? Because there are _many_ bars in Central you could accomplish that, ones you wouldn’t be inflicting your presence on me—”

“I came here because—” Barry drew in a harsh, shaking breath and clenched his fist. He still wasn’t looking at Len but straight ahead, eyes too watery, face too harsh, all sharp edges. His lips pursing out as he tried to school it and failed, so he resorted to biting his lip and then exhaling roughly. It was fascinating to watch. Then his voice was a rasp when he got out the next words, “Because today was the worst day of my entire _life_ ,” and it broke on the last syllable. Len immediately had to look away.

And maybe he had had a few too many, because he got the bright idea—stalked down the length of the wood bar to where the last bartender was actively pretending to ignore their conversation. He doubled checked with her if any of the other staff were still around but no, she was closing up alone, almost no patrons ever came in after two during the week. He nodded and slipped her more than enough to make it worth her while to close up early, leave things until the morning. The staff also knew him around here, enough that they didn’t ask questions. She nodded and circled around the bar, locked up the front and shut out the signs. He watched and waited, leaning in a stance more casual than he felt. Barry took out the flask in earnest now, sucked some down and the bartender didn’t blink on her way out the back door, the one that would automatically lock behind them when they left.

And now they were alone.

The music had died a few minutes ago, cut out when she was closing up, and the silence felt heavy and weighted in the air, a thick blanket with the smoke and dim lights. Whatever this was, whatever Barry was playing at, it was time to call him on his bluff.

“I asked what you want, Scarlet?” he let out his more commanding voice, a few feet from Barry still and gathering resolve from the distance. The other turned on his stool to face him.

“You.”

It sent shivers up his spine. He _couldn't_ mean what Len thoug—

“I want you to fuck me and I want to forget about the mess of my life for an hour.”

Len's throat went dry and he resisted the urge to swallow. That was one hell of a proposition. If Barry was a man capable of guile he would guess it was a trap, but this was Barry Allen, and a sad and worn Barry Allen at that. But it was the most sure the other had seemed all night, back straight instead of slouched, eyes fierce as he held Len’s gaze, unflinching and too intense in the still and quiet air.

How had they gone from “why didn’t you kill me” to “please fuck me” without so much as a conversation? Len was pissed.

“You can’t be serious. After everything, you think I’m interested in being your booty call, Allen?”

Barry stood and Len felt his face tense, tightening his fist where it was sitting on the wooden bar.

“I have had the _worst_ possible day you can imagine,” he stepped closer and Len felt his back straighten, ready for a fight, “I have watched people that I love _die_ —” and oh shit, Len’s eyes started to widen—“and I have seen destruction that you cannot _imagine_ and seen things I cannot understand and right now—” Barry had angry tears in his eyes and he was standing six inches from Len, jaw set, “—right now you are the _only_ thing that can cut through the noise so—”

Barry drew in a deep breath and Len felt his own heart suddenly _ache_ —

“Please—” he sounded so broken, so desperate, and Len couldn’t say no.

He grabbed Barry’s jacket and pulled him forward, off balance for a rough and angry kiss. The other latched onto him, arms strong around his waist, under his leather jacket and clutched into the fabric of his shirt. It almost winded him, not the strength of Barry but the feel of him, pressing himself against Len, bodies pushed together suddenly in a hard line. The kiss was furious, teeth and tongue and he pulled Barry forward with hands on his neck and jaw, not sure who was injecting more intensity into it, all challenge and anger. It was electric.

Then they were moving, Barry’s arms circling forward and pushing at his jacket and he shucked it without breaking the kiss before pressing the lean man back into the wooden bar, up against it as his hands pushed up his shirt, and they both had hands everywhere for the next minute, reclaiming missed territory, retracing old steps. He bit Barry’s lower lip harder than he maybe should have. It didn’t seem like the other cared, pressing his body forward into Len’s hands, groaning into the kiss, and Len broke off and bit his neck instead. Barry just stretched it out, hips pushing up to grind against Len, gasping—

“Yes—bite me, bruise me—please Len—just—” he sucked hard against the bite mark and Barry moaned and his hands gripped Len’s back, underneath his muscle shirt. They were wearing too many clothes. He reached down to pull Barry forward by his hips, grabbing his ass as he ground his own hips back into the other’s.

God he was angry this was even happening, angry how much he wanted it.

He kissed Barry again, tongue-fucking into his mouth, and leaned down just enough to get his hands under his ass and then thighs and then he lifted, hoisted the other up. Barry got with the program fast, wrapped his legs around Len’s hips and grounded down on his quickly hardening erection. They were definitely wearing too many clothes.

He broke the kiss to bit the other side of Barry’s neck, making matching bruises, one hand on Barry’s ass and the other coming up to tug on his jacket. Barry was pressed against the bar, no doubt it was digging into his back in a sharp line and they were probably gonna’ be knocking bottles over soon. Scarlet was trying to shrug out of his jacket but it was trapped between him and the bar, space too tight and Len was frustrated already, hoisted Barry up and stepped back, the other snapping his arms around Len’s shoulders. He carried the lean man to the nearest surface—a pool table, and sat him on the edge, pulling off his jacket and then shirt.

Then Len was leaning back, enough to look at the other, already debauched, legs still wrapped around him, bruised neck, red lips, the dark under his eyes giving them an even more bedroom look. Barry was really about to let him fuck him, here in this empty, dingy bar on a pool table, at half past two in the morning when Len had betrayed him the last time they’d seen one another. He was really about to fuck Barry, throw away all his good sense and all that he’d accomplished by betraying him for just a quick and angry bad decision. About to do it just because Barry asked, looked so sad and desperate that he didn’t know how to say no. In that moment he almost left, the hungry hollow in the pit of his chest welling up to consume him. Then Barry spoke, voice a rasp, eyes inches from Len’s, “Len, please just… claim me.”

And fuck if that wasn’t everything he wanted, and exactly what he was going to do.

****************

Len pulled him in, angry and fierce, kissing him, hands in his hair, pulling. Barry let himself be guided, needed it, ground his hips up as Len pulled and used his grip to jerk his head to the side, nipped at his jaw, sucked on his earlobe and tongued behind it until Barry shivered in his arms. Then his voice was low and dark in Barry’s ear, a whisper in the empty space around them,

“I’m going to wreck you—fuck you until you’re spent and sated and the only word you know is my name. I’m going to make sure you know what it means for me to _claim_ you.”

He almost whimpered, gasped instead, and his whole body felt like a live wire, electrified, seeking sensation. He needed this, needed it so bad, to be grounded, _anchored_.

“You want that Barry? You want me to wreck you?” He pulled on his hair as he said it, moved to suck a bruise on his neck even as Barry responded, half broken already,

“Yes—fuck yes, please—”

Len pushed him, his back hitting the solid wood and felt of the pool table, and there were hands on him, unzipping his jeans and he arched his hips up, unwrapped them from Len so the other could pull them off, kicked out of his shoes and socks to make it easier. A second later Len was stripping him out of his underwear and he helped him, stretched out his legs and any other day he would have the decency to be ashamed, embarrassed about being in a public place, doors locked but even so. He was on top of the harsh wood and green felt of a pool table and this couldn’t be sanitary but he was too beyond caring by that point, after everything that had happened.

So he sat forward and kissed Len again, pulling at shirt but Len just pushed him back and peeled it off himself. The sight made Barry’s mouth water.

“You bring a condom? Lube?”

Barry nodded, “My jacket—”

“Good, get on your hands and knees.”

He swallowed. Len was undoing his own belt and bent down to start rummaging through his jacket while Barry started to move. He knew the other was angry, it was radiating out off him, and it hurt but it also made this easer—Len was going to fuck him so hard he couldn’t see straight, was taking charge and calling the shots and god he needed it. So he maneuvered himself until he was on his elbows and knees. He felt so exposed, too exposed, ass in the air, bare, face starting just now to heat in shame, felt table digging into his knees. But that bit of pain and humiliation was addictive, grounding, easy to focus on and his cock didn’t seem to mind, twitching.

His head dropped between his shoulders when Len gripped his ass cheeks. He almost gasped at the sudden cool of his fingers, closing his eyes as his face got redder. He wanted to tell him to get on with it but then he could feel hands pulling his cheeks apart, exposing this sensitive part of him, entrance twitching at the cool air suddenly meeting it. He shivered and wished Len would just climb up onto the table with him, get behind him and just fuck him already. He didn’t care if he was fingered first, he just needed _Len_ —inside him, part of him.

“Hurry up,” he urged.

“Oh I’m going to take my dear sweet time here, Scarlet.” He spread Barry’s ass cheeks even wider as he said it and god he might die of shame before he got fucked at this rate.

Without warning, Len’s tongue darted out and Barry was met with the _incredible_ sensation of it sliding along his balls, behind them and then back, up in one long fluid motion from perineum to tail bone.

“ _Fuuuucccck_ ,” he moaned it aloud, there were no other words to express the sensation of Len’s tongue sliding over his entrance, wet hot and slick.

Len did it again and his whole body shuddered as he moaned, dropped his head lower into his arms and arched his back, instincts taking over to give Len better access. No one had ever done this for him before but fuck it felt amazing. Hands gripped his ass cheeks and pulled until he felt his anus stretched, puckered and bared, sensitive and embarrassing. But then Len’s tongue was there, darting forward, swirling in a teasing circle, knowing exactly what he was doing and Barry was _wrecked_.

The next few minutes extended on for a century. Len kept doing that, slow and teasing, until he was a mess, desperate and wanton, craving more, more of Len’s tongue, his mouth, this feeling. He was moaning and gasping, completely vulnerable, hard table biting into his elbows and knees, completely and utterly uncaring, pressing his hips back, trying to hold onto the sensation. It was an eternity of teasing, of him starting to whimper, spreading his legs wider, arching his back more, Len’s hands pulling his ass cheeks and flicking his tongue. It was too good and he was too hard, almost crying. And finally the slick feeling, Len’s tongue pressed against the hard ring of muscle and then into it, inside him and he scrabbled his nails against the felt under him, gaining no purchase, his only catharsis to yell out in pleasure then gasp, moan, and beg Len for more. He was a mess of sensations, taken apart at all the right seams.

Then Len’s hand came to stroke his cock and he swore loud, bit his lip because _fuck_ he was getting too noisy—but Len always knew what to do to ruin him, too many sensations at once until he was a mess of nerves and thrusts, back and forth, into Len’s hand, back onto his mouth, the reverse of what he might have expected. And he was close, so close he could taste it, ready to come, like this, arching up and desperate, played like a fiddle, starting to vibrate, but then—

 _Fuck_. Len backed away. Barry might scream he was so close. He gasped instead, “Len, fuck, I need—“

“I’ll give you what you need, Barry.”

He shivered. Len’s voice was so low, so raw. He felt hands on him, on his hips, turning him over, pulling him sharply to the ledge of the table, the wooden ledge biting into the small of his back. Without preamble there were three fingers pressing into him, already slicked with lube, swift and sharp, stretching. He swore and tried to find leverage on the edge of the table to rock into them but it was too hard, the angle too wrong and he had to just let go and let Len's fingers fuck him. He pulled his legs back with his hands and Len’s free hand gripped the underside of his thigh and pushed it back harder for better access to his ass. Then all thought left his head because Len’s fingers were pressing into his prostate and he was so close again, starting to vibrate, about to reach down and grip himself but Len’s hand slipped from his thigh and intercepted him, snatched his wrist and—

“C’ _mon_ , Len!”

He removed his fingers and Barry might just kill him he was so close. It was almost painful at this point.

“Didn’t I say I was gonna’ take my time, Scarlet?”

Oh, that was it, he was gonna’—fuck Len was rolling on a condom and Barry hadn’t even touched him yet. He was hard and flushed and Barry’s eyes were ravenous as he drank in the sight, spreading his legs.

“What if I say please?” his lips twitched in a half smirk as he said it, being cheeky and totally serious all at once.

Len snorted and pulled Barry forward by his hips until there were in line. And then—yes, fuck, finally—Len had _finally_ pressed his cock against Barry’s more than ready entrance, and a second later was pressing in the head, Barry’s body greedily welcoming it, tight around the thick erection slowly spearing him, stretching him. He moaned and tried to rock his hips but Len held them in place, and then once he had an inch inside he snapped forward in a swift and sure movement, totally impaling Barry, fully inside him, so deep he might break. He groaned Len’s name and the sudden sensation of fullness, the stretch. It was the satisfying type of almost burn that fed into more pleasure. He shuddered around Len, clenching and unclenching, trying to relax around him, and then the other started to thrust, deep, quick movements, furious and fast, breathtaking. Len’s eyes were dark and blown, gazing down at Barry as though he could devour him and—

“Mark me—make me yours,” he gasped it out, wanting Len to be etched into his skin, and even if it would fade in an hour he wanted the knowledge that Len was there, that this was real if fleeting.

And Len obliged, leaning over him to nip at his nipples, sucking until Barry was rocking his body up, fingers digging into Len’s back, legs tightening around his waist. Then the other was drawing bruises along his ribs, his clavicles, his neck, sucking on all the spots that were so sensitive to Barry. Somewhere in there, he started to vibrate again as he thrust back on Len—first his hands and legs and then body, all of him. And he could feel it, feel it around Len in the deepest part of him, and the other was starting to groan, a low rumble, thrusts becoming faster, shorter, impossibly faster, more angry, fingers wrapping around Barry’s cock.

His voice was a gravel-filled rasp in Barry’s ear when he said “Come for me, Barry”—and he did, one, two, three pulls later and he was gone, coming into the space between them, silently shouting, biting into Len’s shoulder as he came, making his own mark as the noise of the world fell away and distilled to just him and Len. Len was seconds behind him, thrusting and pulsing deep inside him, hands tight on his hips, clenching and unclenching, breathing heavy.

They shuddered and held each other until they were totally spent, and then he was lying back again, naked and splayed with his back against a hard and unforgiving billiards table. Len pulled out and started cleaning up.

Short-lived as it might be, his body ached. His lower lip might be a bit swollen, his nipples tingled and his hips felt the phantom of Len’s fingers. There were bruises up his neck and body, his back from the bite of the hard side of the table, his knees. His lower back was sore on the inside, not so much from the stretch as the intensity of their sex. It had been rough and fast and angry and everything he wanted and needed.

Without speaking, without knowing what to say, he hoisted himself up and started to dress. Len was already sorting out his own clothes and he suddenly felt his voice catching in his throat again, at a loss for words. For a little while he had finally felt free from some of the noise and anxiety and nausea that had been bubbling below the surface for days. But now he hardly knew what to say. They’d just had sex on a pool table and that was apparently being crossed off a bucket list he didn’t have. He slid into to his jeans and shirt in jerky movements, afraid Len would regret this.

“You gonna’ tell me what this was really about, kid?”

He blew out a breath and, yeah, he probably owed Len some type of explanation.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY THE SCENE YOU’VE ALL BEEN PATIENTLY WAITING FOR. Redhead always delivers on her promises, especially when those promises are sex on a pool table. ;) 
> 
> Also, you're supposed to be confused here. Len is confused. What is going on. Why is Barry there? (and what the fuck happened to that swirling vortex of doom over Central and why Len doesn't remember it??). But that is described later; I cut and moved it to the next chapter and the one after so that this one could be all about the ~~smut~~ boys.
> 
> Anyway, ACTUAL CONVERSATION HAPPENS NEXT CHAPTER. Which I will post tomorrow. This was supposed to be a double-update but this was done quicker and I felt like posting it when it was ready :)


	21. I’m not ready to say I’m sorry for wanting you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes saving the day doesn’t make the pain go away

The last forty eight hours had well and truly been the worst of Barry’s life. From the moment Len betrayed him to the moment he'd finally corrected everything, saved the city, re-wrote the singularity, it had been one worse thing after another. And he thought he had survived the worst thing his life would throw at him the night his mother was murdered. As it turned out, he managed to top it, and it only stood to reason he did that by reliving it. Reliving it and watching Eddie die. Reliving it and helping create a singularity that would have destroyed the city had he not gone back in time. And it didn’t matter that Eddie was alive again, that no one remembered the city crumbling beneath their feet. He did. It didn’t matter that no one else knew there was another dimension sitting on top of their own, waiting to crash into it. He did. 

And he felt so  _alone_  in his grief, unable to explain to anyone right then, to ruin their joy and celebration, biting his pain back for hours into the evening. So since the past two days had been full of reckless decision after reckless decision, he’d figured one, final, idiotic decision to cap it off might be worthwhile. And he did what any reckless, aching, _normal_ , selfish person would do. He’d went to a bar, flask of Caitlin's special home brew in pocket, to get himself drunk and do something stupid. And if that bar happened to be Saints and Sinners something stupid happened to be Leonard Snart, then so be it. It was his turn to be selfish.

He’d stepped into the bar as the clock ticked over midnight. It wasn’t busy when he got there. It was dingy and the air was more full of smoke than any bar should be, dark and dim, too warm. But he’d made a beeline for the bar anyway, flask in his jacket pocket, eyes skimming around only once he’d taken a seat. There.

Len had been staring right at him.

He’d nodded at the other man and then promptly ignored him, turned back to the bartender, ordered himself a triple and then rethought it, asked the bartender to leave the bottle. She arched an eyebrow but left him a bottle and a tumbler. If she left him alone after that, he didn’t doubt it was because his eyes were red-rimmed even still, face some contorted expression. He could still feel Len’s eyes on him. It sent a shiver up his spine and he reached into his jacket, slipped a bit of the homebrew into his drink, trying to pace himself. He had no idea what he was doing but wasn’t about to stop.

The alcohol had burned. Saints and Sinners was full of bad music and uncomfortable smells, but not that many people. He could hear Len’s game of pool, the other man having returned to it. Maybe he figured that Barry would wait. He slipped a bit more of the homebrew into his drink. If he sipped some every ten minutes or so, along with the rest of alcohol he was taking in, he could keep a buzz. It was all he really wanted right now, not to think of the last day. He wished he could think of anything else. It was better now, though, in the same room as Len. Quieter. He didn’t even need to look over, just hearing his voice on occasion—“your shot” and “another round?”—but even that was enough to help sooth his nerves. He would have been embarrassed about that if he had energy left enough to care.

Instead he’d sat there for longer than any sane person, pouring liquor by the ounce into his glass, sucking it back. It still burned. He found that he enjoyed that, wanted the roughness he could feel in his throat after each swallow. Anything to help ground him. Wishing Len would finish his game and come over. He forced himself to stay steady, kept drinking, and tried not to think.

The liquor was amber in color, cheap and harsh to the taste. Rectifying as it burned it’s way down his throat.He hadn’t even noticed till that point, in the bar for almost two hours by now, the bottle almost empty, his flask on its last ounce. He almost didn’t notice a man come to stand beside him.

“I’ve gotta’ say, Scarlet, you’ve been more patient that I thought possible for you. So I’ll bite. Whad’you want?”

And then Barry had felt a simultaneous lightness and crush of nerves, chest releasing, muscles tensing. His eyes snapped up. Len was leaning on the bar, eyes glittering in the low light.

The honest answer had been: whatever he could get.

The last forty eight hours had been a constant nightmare come to life and then, just for a little while, it was melting away. He let Len take him apart with mouth and hands and let himself shudder and beg and just give over all control to Len instead. Give over control to the one thing that grounded him, anchored him.

After it was over, reality settled back in.

 

*************

 

Fuck, did they really just do that _again_?

Len clearly needed better self-control. His body felt sated, relaxed, but the rest of him was catching up and reeling.

“You gonna’ tell me what this was really about, kid?”

He winced at the use of the nickname after saying it—he probably could have picked his words better but it would help with distancing himself from this stupid situation at least. But really, what the hell was Barry thinking? What the hell was _he_ thinking, throwing all sense to the wind and just _taking_ him on the pool table? He was never gonna’ look at that table the same after tonight.

He turned around and leaned against the bar, crossing his arms in his t-shirt, jacket still on the ground. Barry was already scratching at the back of his head, looking chastised. Good.

“I wasn’t lying… I had the worst day of my life and I… I just wanted…”

“Wanted?”

He wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily.

“I just wanted to see you, Len.”

Fuck he couldn’t even handle this shit. Len turned around and fished out a bottle from behind the bar, pouring himself a shot. After he took it, he ground out, “You’re a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Barry came to join him at the bar and took the bottle, pouring himself some.

“I thought you said—”

“It doesn’t, I just like the burn.”

He arched his eyebrow and gave Barry a sidelong glance, snatching back the whiskey. “You gonna’ explain how the night was so awful, Scarlet, or just go back to drinking?”

He should stop talking, should walk out of here. But he still needed to understand what the hell had happened between Barry peeling himself off the tarmac while he rode away on his motorcycle to... whatever the hell tonight was supposed to be.

“Today I…” Barry exhaled too loudly, a tense and frustrated sound and slapped his hands on the wood of the bar. It made a loud slapping sound that broke through the quiet air, and Barry looked like he was bracing for a fight, shoulders tensing up. Len was glad he didn’t startle easy.

“To understand my day you need to understand my… history. Today was the worst day of my life but it was _tied_ for first place, like the first time wasn’t bad enough—and I just—” he was getting emotional again, pursing his lips. Len poured him a shot and slid it over. Barry took it at superspeed, which was an odd thing to watch. Then he started talking.

“When I was a child I had to watch my mother’s murder. Tonight I had to watch it again.”

That made literally no sense. Unless it was a video or—

“I ran back in time to the night she died so that I could stop it, and then I didn’t.”

What the fuck, there was no way—

“I’ve done it before, running back in time. The day you kidnapped Cisco, actually. But never on purpose, and not like this. I did it today to rewrite the timeline, and I almost killed everyone in Central City because of it.”

“You’re not making sense, Scarlet.” Time travel? Was the swill he was sipping in that flask affecting his brain?

Barry laughed, a hollow sound without any humor. “Right, sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself… When I was a child a speedster killed my mother in front of me, and my father went to prison for her murder. That speedster was Wells—Thawne—and he travelled back in time to do it.”

Okay, so that was… insane. Still. He leaned on his elbow and faced Barry, who was still looking straight ahead.

“It was before speedsters and meta-humans existed, before the accelerator made people this way, and killing her made Thawne stuck there, in the past, until he recreated the accelerator, created the Flash, and everything that goes along with it.”

There were a million questions in his head, and he took the temporary pause in Barry’s speech to clarify, “So Harrison Wells, the man who killed your mother, who spent his whole life making a particle accelerator that broke and ruined tons of lives, who then faked being in a wheelchair... did it all just to turn you into the Flash? So he could… travel through time?”

His skepticism must have shown through his voice. Or on his face. Or just everywhere.

“Basically?” Barry’s lips quirked up for a fraction of a second. “Eobard Thawne calls himself the Reverse Flash and he’s from the future, and he hates me for… some reason. He didn’t say. And he went back in time to kill me as a kid, and my future self followed him back in time and stopped him, so he killed my mother instead.”

“Wait—you and Wells—Thawne—were both time travelling from the future to your childhood?”

“Yes, and he killed my mother and got stuck in the past because of it. That part’s a bit murky to me, I guess he needs my speed in order to generate his own.”

He made a ‘go on’ gesture because he really didn’t have any words. There wasn't enough alcohol in the bar to make this sound any less crazy than it did.

“Today…last night we finally caught him, and today he gave me the chance to go back in time and…” Barry breathed in and his eyes were suddenly wet. Len couldn't look away. “…and save her.” His voice broke and he was holding back, clearly trying to hold back. Len stepped closer, chest tightening. “I could go back and I could—but then I couldn’t, I was there and I _couldn’t_. God dammit, I couldn’t save her!” He slammed his hands down agains the bar again, harder this time, every line tight and tense and angry, tears around his eyes. Len was aching in parts of him he didn’t know exited. This was all insane but Barry’s pain, that part he understood, that part was  _real_. “I saw myself—my future self and he—I—I had to let Wells take _her_ , I couldn’t stop it!”

He couldn’t handle it anymore, he grabbed Barry and wrapped him into his arms, consequences be damned. He held him tight and let him cry into the thin cotton of his shirt and let him keep talking as he trembled, words split with sobs, “I couldn't, Len! I wanted to s—save her but if I did—it would change _everything_ , the entire timeline—”

Barry pulled back and he relaxed his arms to let him, but he just leaned far enough away to look into Len’s eyes, to impose this horrible sentence on him, “I had to watch and let her die, Len—in my arms. I had to watch him murder her _again_ and do _nothing_.”

And he had no words. There was nothing to say to that. It was still a mystery to him, why Barry was here, seeking _his_ comfort instead of anyone else’s, someone he could trust, but he was here and Len’s heart wasn’t made of ice. So he pulled Barry forward to rest his head on Len's shoulder and reached a hand into his hair to slide through the strands there, gentle, a caress that could say what his words couldn’t. Barry clung to him and quietly cried, whisped things likes “It’s all my fault” and “If I wasn’t the Flash and if I’d never been the Flash then she wouldn't—”

And Len just shh’d his nemesis, his almost friend, his once-lover. Rubbed circles in his back. Held him close.

After enough time, some indeterminate and stretched amount, Barry was quiet, and then after longer still he pulled back. Len’s shoulder was soaked but he couldn’t care. He was too far gone on Barry to care, and he knew he was utterly fucked because of it.

“Sorry,” it sounded like a croak, Barry's voice was so raw and worn. And he was back to looking exhausted, dark circles like bruises now, somehow just intensifying the green of his eyes, which were bright. His face was still a little red but he looked calm, like he’d finally gotten that off his chest. Len wondered how many hours he’d been holding it back.

“Where's Wells now?”

He wanted to know, had some plans for what he might be able to do to that fucker. But Barry just laughed bitterly.

“That's… kind of hard to guess. I might have thrown him into a worm-hole.”

And then he was explaining, and Len had to sit down on a barstool to process this, but Barry had run through the particle accelerator and created a _wormhole_ to the past, to the night his mother died, while Cisco and some other people had built a _time machine_ for ‘Eobard Thawne’ to jump back to the future. Barry even said the words ‘back to the future.’

“And then I went through it to the past, and you know that part, but I came back and then Eddie—”

“Wait, hold up, Scarlet,” there was one very big question he needed answered. “ _Why would you do that_?!”

 

*************

 

Barry had almost laughed when Wells—Eobard—offered him the chance. He hadn’t planned on taking it, at least, not until the man had said,

“I’m _giving_ you a chance to undo all the evil I’ve done. Don’t you want that chance?”

And he’d left, back to the cortex, to get a second, and third, and fourth and fifth opinion. Because Wel—Eobard—had made him realize… it wasn’t just about him. It was about all of them. It wasn’t just his own life he would change, or his mother’s or his father’s: it was the life of every person he knew. It wasn’t a simple choice, and when Joe told him he _had_ to, he really wasn’t so sure.

So he’d taken the day, several hours until evening, to consider his options. To consider what he would lose, what he would gain. To consider what his friends and family would lose, what they might gain. And Iris found him on a rooftop—their rooftop—still contemplating. And she told him, of course, that it was a choice only he could make. And her too, even she thought this was about him, his future, but it wasn’t. It was about all of theirs. And these wonderful, beautiful people who supported him had had their lives totally rearranged by Thawne as well. Ronnie and Dr. Stein with Caitlin, Iris and Joe, Cisco… Leonard too, and all of the other metahumans. All these people who deserved better.

And after all the messes he had made along the way, he found he had a responsibility to them, _owed_ it to them to try and make things right. And despite those messes he’d made along the way, he found himself quietly grieving on his walk back to the lab, more hollow now than even before. He would forget all of this, and he didn’t want to. He would lose these connections, these relationships. He would gain his mother, his father, his father’s freedom, and that was the only thing that made it seem halfway worth it for him. He didn’t want to imagine a life without Joe, without Cisco and Caitlin, without being friends with Eddie, without... He would marry Iris. He might never even _meet_ Leonard. But he owed it to all of them to try and make that reality _real_.

So he’d went back to Eobard just after nightfall and asked what his plan was. Apparently, his plan was insane. Just crazy enough to maybe work.

“We’re going to use the particle accelerator.”

Barry was going to run in the accelerator, collide with a particle, and create a wormhole through time. If he ran fast enough, if he didn’t die, he would be able to go back and re-write the timeline, correct all of Wells’ wrongs. He would be able to save his mother.

And before he’d made his final choice, there had been one question left he had for Wells.

“The people I know now…will they all be okay? Are their lives happy in the original timeline?” Do I know them? Do I love them? He’d wanted to know, but hadn’t know how to frame his question.

“Oh, their lives will be different. You’ll grow up with your family, Iris with hers. But you’ve seen how that story ends, Barry. You get the girl.”

His jaw had tensed. That’s not what he was asking.

“Unless…it’s not the girl you want anymore?"

Something must have shown on his face because—

"Oh Barry,” he laughed, “I really _am_ sorry about how things turned out between you and Snart at Ferris Air. You two really were _cute_ together.”

He’d felt his chest constrict, eyes widen, how did Thawne—his cameras. He’d seen, at Barry’s house, in his _bedroom_ —it was the only way. He _watched_ —

“You _watched_ that?” it should have been a shout but it was low and hissed through his teeth, coming right up next to the glass in, shoulders bunching with suppressed rage.

“No need to sound so scandalized, Barry," so glib, relishing Barry's anger, "Though it was informative as to your, ah, proclivities. I must say, a tryst between Captain Cold and the Flash definitely didn’t make it into the history books, and I _did_ read your biography.”

His fists were clenched so tight he could feel them shaking. “How _dare_ you—that was—what is wrong with you?!”

Thawne had just laughed, quiet and calm, stepping right in front of him on the other side of the barrier. “Oh Barry, you should know I was just looking out for you. Have to say I was surprised you took up with that criminal, didn’t really seem your style.”

“What the hell do you know about my _style_?!” His fist slammed against the glass, close to Eobard’s smug face.

“Barry, Barry, Barry. I know everything about you—about your future. And I know, much as you know, that Iris West is the one you marry, in the original timeline and the one I’ve created. It was always doomed to fail with Snart.”

Doomed to fail. Of course it was. He’d swallowed and stepped back, dropped his hand from the glass.

“If you correct the timeline, you won’t even have to remember he betrayed you at all. It’ll erase all the memories that you and him ever even happened.”

“Shut your mouth, Thawne.”

“Barry, it’s _okay_. You were meant to marry Iris and be _happy_. You were meant to grow up with your parents, a fa-mi-ly. You came here to fix this. Isn’t Iris—isn’t your mother—worth this much? I know you, Barry—”

“You may know about me but you don’t understand me at all. I’ll go back, and I’ll fix this, but not because it changes my relationship with Iris and not because it erases my memories of Len. I’ll do it because it’s the right thing to do. Because you made a mess and I have to clean it up for you. I’m fixing the timeline because everyone in it deserves to live the lives they were supposed to. This isn’t for me, it never was.”

He’d stalked out there then, trying not to think about Len, about how he wouldn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

 

************

 

Barry shook himself out of whatever memory he’d landed in, brought himself back to the present. Len stared at him, appraising. In this deserted place, a silent hour of the morning when all decent folk had long-since gone to sleep, they might as well be the only two people in the world.

“Because… it was the right thing to do.” Len was already shaking his head as Barry continued, “All these people—not just my friends and family but everyone whose lives were _ruined_ by the accelerator blowing, or by Wells, or by all the things he’d done and lies he told along the way. He broke the timeline and I thought…” he looked down at his hands, “I thought I was supposed to make it right again.”

“All the king’s horses and all the king’s men…”

“Huh?”

“Couldn’t put humpty dumpty back together again? Barry, it isn’t your _job_ to fix the past, that doesn’t even make sense.”

“But I can travel—”

“But that doesn’t mean you should!” the words were more snapped than he intended. "Why the hell would you think it's a good idea to just go and rewrite the last fifteen or more years? Rewrite chunks of people's lives, Barry? That's insane. Why would you even want to?"  
  
But Barry’s jaw dropped, completely nonplussed, and looked almost angry.

“To save my mother, Len! To get my father out of prison for a murder he didn’t commit! To fix everything and get my friends and family their _lives_ back!”

He ground his teeth and dropped his hand from his empty glass, wishing it was full. Any buzz he’d had had long since worn off and the dehydration was making him irritable. Either that or watching Barry turn himself inside out over Harrison—Eobard—was doing it. That man had twisted Barry around his finger and he hated it.

"What about the lives people would lose if you did rewrite time?"

And Barry bit his lip, looked to the side and he knew he'd hit a sore spot. He stood up and stepped closer and Barry replied, "I had to believe they'd be okay. They would live the lives they were meant to. Even if those lives didn't have me in them."

His eyes snapped up, and his moss green eyes locked gazes with Len. Oh.

"So what stopped you?"

"Myself. My future self, he was there... he told me not to." It wasn't really what he wanted to hear, but some look came over Barry's face then, some type of grief etched in the lines of his face. "I thought I would get her back, Len. And everyone else would have their lives back too."

“Whether you can turn back the clock or not, that’s not how life works. There’s no getting back the things we lose, Barry.”

Those words hung between them and swaddled over the bar, tightening the dank, oppressive air, the moment drawing out as the meaning settled in. Barry’s face twisted tighter, eyebrows drawing in. Len had put that expression on his face, and wanted nothing more than to take it back. But he also meant it. He couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t be the one who held Barry together and fucked him and marked him, not if he didn’t get to stand by his side too. And he knew he’d long since lost that chance.

“I had to try,” Barry whispered into the gloom, the words would have punched the air out of Len’s lungs if there had been space for air next to the aching inside his ribcage. Then Barry was turning, walking out of the bar and Len felt a prickly burning in his eyes that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He pushed it back. Snarts never come out on top with love, he should be used to this by now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you really think we were done with angst? Hahahahaha, nope. ~~(I'm not gross sobbing in the corner)~~
> 
> But like, pretty much done with angst, Len’s just being an idiot and he doesn’t realize Barry’s there for more than an emotional fuck—he’s there because he also wants Len by his side (obviously). These dorks, I tell ya.
> 
> But yeah I wanted to start here with a parallel of Barry's last 48 hours compared to Len's, because they were in totally opposite emotional places when he came into the bar. Sorry if anything about this chapter was repetitive (including form the finale), but it's all new ground after this!


	22. Dude, how many people can put ‘ended the world’ on their resume?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has a nightmare and STAR labs becomes a secret-free zone

Barry burst back through the accelerator wormhole, much to Cisco’s surprise, and everyone else’s. He shattered the time machine into a thousand pieces and he had a split second to mourn the loss of his most beautiful work yet because the Reverse Flash was yelling, screaming that Barry could have had everything he ever wanted and having Barry yell back that he already did.

Which was great and all, except Wells was starting to threaten all their lives and Cisco had already been on the receiving end of that once, and did _not_ like the way Wel— _Eobard_ —was kicking Barry’s ass. Joe West was huddling Iris and him back and he was thinking it might be a good idea to make a break for it when—

_BANG_!

Cisco had never liked the sound of gunshots. He shuddered and watched Eddie Thawne fall to the ground, and oh—of course. Eobard Thawne was disintegrating, being erased from the timeline, and—yes! They were saved! Although his relief lasted only a second because he looked down at Eddie, at Iris crying over him, and the cost of success felt too high already.

And no, oh no. The wormhole was opening again. Of course—it made no sense, the timeline if Eddie had never had kids would mean that they shouldn’t even be in this room right now, and—his mind flipped through the math and the loop in an instant. A time loop, a paradox, and it would be infinite unless—

The singularity opened up above them. Cisco ran outside with everyone else, buildings crashing upward into the sky. They’d just destroyed the planet Earth. The solar system. Stein was saying what Cisco was thinking—there was no way to stop it.

Barry's voice was steady as they looked up into certain doom. “I have to try.”

 

**************

 

Cisco slammed bolt upright in his bed, cold sweats, heart racing, hands shaking. Bile was crawling up his throat and he swallowed— _nope_ —and made it to the wastebin in the corner of his room before emptying the contents of his stomach. His typically iron stomach, so welcoming to even the worst of foods, to many a frozen beverage and hamburger, was not ready to handle end-of-Earth level calamity. He shuddered, freezing in his boxers and t-shirt, clammy skin losing heat from the sweat sheen on his body. But he felt better, system empty and hitting the reset button, and tied up the garbage bag before going to grab a glass of water.

It was just like his dreams of Eobard Thawne killing him. Another timeline, a different one. But how would that be? They’d ended the _world_?

He shivered again, sitting back into his bed. Barry must have stopped it. But how? The only answer was that he went back in time, somewhere up in that black hole. But why hadn’t he said anything?

Cisco thought of Eddie’s lifeless body being sucked up into the singularity, of people screaming in the city. Okay, so maybe he could guess why.

Would anyone else remember this? Or was it just… was it what Thawne—the evil Thawne, he really needed to decide on the right mental name for this guy—had told him? The vibrations of the universe…

There was no hope for getting back to sleep. Instead, he went to STAR Labs and dialed Barry’s number. They really needed to talk.

 

**********

 

Barry walked home at regular speed after seeing Len. It was quiet in the city for most of his walk, until people started waking up, past six am by the time he made it home. He got in the door just in time to see Joe coming down the stairs, getting ready for work.

“Barr? What—have you been out all night?”

“Seems that way… I lost track of time.” It wasn’t really lie, but Joe was giving him a look that said he knew there was more the story. Joe always knew, but maybe that’s just because there always _was_ more to the story in Barry’s life.

“Do I even want to know?” he drawled, and Barry followed him into the kitchen.

“I doubt it.”

“Barr… please tell me you didn't—”

“Please Joe just—just don’t. Okay? Not right now, not today.”

Joe gave him an appraising look and then, “You look like hell, son. Why don’t you get some sleep, and when I’m home tonight we can talk about… about yesterday.”

He nodded. There was a lump in his throat even now, but it was lessened a lot, probably thanks to the exhaustion.

“Okay kid, get some sleep. I’ll see you tonight.”

He dropped into his mattress and into a dead-to-the-world slumber for the next several hours. He’d barely slept at all in the last three days, and all the running he’d done the day before had been more than enough to wipe him out.

By the time he got up, it was after noon and he’d missed four calls from Cisco. Oh shit. Had something happened?

“Cisco—hey—is everything okay, I saw—”

“Hey man! No Flash emergency, don’t worry. I just—can you swing by the lab, man? I need to talk to you. Caitlin’s here too.”

“I… can it wait? I’m kind of still recovering from… everything.”

“That’s kiiinda what I wanted to talk to you about. I had this dream, like the ones I used to have about Wells—Eobard—Wellsobard—it was… look man, did we create a black hole?”

Oh shit. “I’ll shower and be right over.”

He clicked off the phone, and how the hell did Cisco keep remembering these things—things that happened in alternate timelines that didn’t exist anymore? Things that technically _hadn’t_ happened in this timeline?

He didn’t spend too much time wrapping his head around it. At the very least, it was a distraction from last night, from—

He turned the shower water to cold, not ready to think about last night quite yet. About what an idiot he’d been. Because of course, Len had made his point loud and clear two days ago at Ferris Air, and Barry was just being an idiot thinking he should go to Len last night.

But god, for a few minutes it had been _good_. Not just the sex, but talking to him, just hearing his voice, and Len hugging him, holding him, finally opening up to someone about what he’d been through watching his mother die. Having someone ground him, anchor him, make everything slow down.

And then, just like that, it was gone again.

A mordant ache set into his stomach as he jogged to STAR Labs, the day wet and chilly. He stopped and looked around when he got outside; the last time he’d been here, it was just after stopping the black hole, and this was exactly where he’d stood before rushing up to it, before going into it and back in time through it. He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop on that one, wondering what the timeline was going to replace that disaster with, wondering what was next for the lab.

He wandered inside, because speculation wouldn’t really get him anywhere, and Cisco was waiting. As it turned out, so was Caitlin, mid-conversation with Cisco when he walked in.

“But if we ended the world then how would Barry have had time to go _back_ in time to—”

“Through the singularity.”

They whipped around at the sound of his voice. He was still in the doorway, almost unsure of walking in. This place had felt like home for so long, and now, with Wells gone and STAR Labs as an entity changing, he wasn’t sure how all the pieces fit together. How he still fit here, with these two, and with the new additions around the place, Ronnie and Dr. Stein, currently not to be seen.

But neither of his friends seemed to notice his hesitation. Cisco jumped out of his chair, dropping his fries down as he did but he didn’t seem to care. “I knew it! You turned the black hole into a wormhole, didn’t you!?”

“That doesn’t even make _sense_ , Cisco!”

“No, he's right, it’s… I mean, kind of? We should compare notes maybe, because I still don’t really understand what happened…” and that was the truth. What happened in the black hole still made very little sense to Barry.

“Dude—yes please!”

So he stepped into the room and took a seat by Caitlin, with Cisco dropping back into his chair and sliding over, too eager to be talking about the end of the world as they knew it. He had a mega-sized slush in his hand though, so his excitement was probably fueled by a sugar high.

“What do you know so far?”

“Just what I dreamt, man—you came back through the worm hole and fought with Wells, but he got the upper hand and…” his joy faded, “then Eddie shot himself. And then the singularity opened because of it.”

“Wait, the black hole opened because of Eddie?”

“I mean, Caitlin and Ronnie had shut it down before that, right? So it wasn't the wormhole breaking that caused it. I think his death set it off, since it happened right after that. The most intense of all grandfather paradoxes, an endless loop." Barry exchanged a glance with Caitlin, wondering if it made sense to her. Clearly not. Cisco seemed to catch their confusion. "Get this—Eddie dies, so he doesn’t have kids, so Eobard was never born in the future, and we saw him disappear from the timeline, right?” They both nodded. “Right, so he had never existed. Except that would mean this entire timeline didn’t exist, he would never have existed to go back in time, to kill your mom, Barry, to put us in that situation, any of it. The whole timeline didn’t make sense. And Eddie wouldn’t have shot himself if Eobard had never existed to go back in time soooo…”

“So an endless loop, like you said,” Caitlin breathed it out because Barry was still thinking, still remembering. “That could cause a black hole?”  
  
“I’m not a theoretical astrophysicist, _buuut_ ,” Cisco’s voice dropped into that reverent quality it got when he found something intensely fascinating. “Imagine, the timeline didn’t immediately just reset then it was because you—no he, Eddie—he ruptured the time-space continuum, a paradox and a loop that ripped into the very fabric of the universe.”

Barry just nodded. It was a bit beyond him. He’d thought it was his fault, his avarice and desire to see his mother—he’d thought his actions ripped open the singularity. But it was Eddie. It was almost a relief.

“So… if it broke time and space, which for the record I don’t quite understand, what happened next? How did you stop it?” Caitlin looked a bit pale and directed that question to Barry. He couldn’t blame her.

“I ran.”

To the best of his abilities, he explained what happened, Cisco and Caitlin a rapt audience. He started out by explaining the speedforce, what he saw there—past, present, future, and things he couldn’t understand. How he’d felt lost to it, the speed, the force, the energy—a mess of sights and sounds, visions of a blond woman and himself in jail and feelings of speed and feeling _pure_ _energy_ —all disorienting and confusing and distracting.

He told them about going to stop Eobard from killing his mother, only to see his future self, who clearly anticipated his present-self’s arrival, who had looked right at him, held up a hand and shook his head ‘no.’ Cisco interrupted with a low-whistle then, something about ‘mad props to future-Barry’ and he almost laughed, but it still hurt too much.

He didn’t tell them how he had chocked on his sobs saying goodbye to his mother, but he didn’t need to. It was on his face, and Caitlin reached over to put a hand on his arm, and he held it. And then he admitted, “I wanted to make Thawne suffer like I did, I wanted to take something from him. So I came back through the worm hole to _destroy_ his chance at happiness, at getting home.”

“And that’s when you fought—and Eddie stepped in.”

Barry nodded and Cisco stood up, started pacing. “We went outside, and the singularity was in the sky, right?”

It was beyond him how Cisco could remember, but he nodded. “I had to try and stop it. I called on the speedforce again, I could feel it, and I ran up into the vortex.”

The room seemed to still as Cisco stopped pacing, him and Caitlin leaning forward, breath baited for what came next. And he remembered, tried to explain what it was like—Central City getting sucked up into it in the sky, how the city and maybe the world would be destroyed if they couldn’t stop it. He remembered the sheer terror of climbing up into that tense, tight, compressing space, a swirling cloud of buildings and broken things, a hole with a tornado around it and he ran, used the speedforce, around and around.

What happened next was hard to describe, hard to believe even for himself.

“I was running around the edges, and inside there was a…a void. And there was Central below me… and Central above me. It was like a mirror image. Like a building would fly up into the hole, but it would also fly down, like a perfect mirror, into the hole. So buildings were disappearing into the void by crashing into themselves, but not breaking just—disappearing. Like into the ocean or a body of water, like a reflection.” Now that he was talking, finally letting it out, his voice kept going, as though stopping now would mean he would never get a chance to voice it again.

“I was being sucked toward the center of the void, and then I saw—there was two of me. Just like the buildings and the cars being sucked up, but it _wasn’t_ me. And it wasn’t a me that ran back in time. It was a _different_ Flash. A man with a metal hat and wings—” Cisco’s head snapped up but Barry kept talking “—and he looked different than me but he was definitely wearing a red shirt with the Flash symbol. And he was running on the opposite side from me, both of us against the cloud, together, and I could _feel_ him in the speedforce beside me. He was across the vortex but I could _hear_ his voice like he was right next to me, and there was no sound, no wind inside the speedforce, just energy and _us_.”

“He spoke to you?” Caitlin’s voice was hushed, almost loud in the stillness.

“He told me… that I ruptured space and time. And I had to go back. If I didn’t, there would a Crisis.”

“A Crisis?” Cisco asked and Barry looked up at him, swallowed and nodded.

“Our worlds—our _dimensions_ —would collide.”

Their eyes widened, confused and a little afraid. It was exactly how he felt. Even thinking about it now was almost paralyzing, an existential grip somewhere deep down, the implications almost impossible to contemplate. His chest tight as he remembered.

“Dude,” Cisco said just above a whisper, “what did you do?”

Barry laughed. It was almost stupid. “I followed his hat. I know, I know, that makes no sense. But I asked him what to do and he said to find my anchor and he'd direct me, I could go back and fix it. He told me to follow his lead and then, I guess when he could sense I was ready, he took off his hat and threw it into the middle of the singularity and I … I ran through after it.”

Cisco whistled low through his teeth and Barry trembled slightly at the memory, trying to shut it out, the intensity of it.

“That’s when you came back. You both worked together to turn the black hole into a wormhole, or you guys created a new wormhole as part of it. That hat, it came through the wormhole in the accelerator just before you did, man, when we were all still standing there and Eobard was leaving.”

Barry nodded, though it was hard to look up from his hands. He was still shaking. It was… there were no words to describe the terror, the surreality of it all. Another dimension, another Flash, another Central City—all waiting to crash into their own.

“So that’s it?” Caitlin had removed her hand but was still looking at Barry intently, and he could see out of the corner of his eye that her brow was furrowed. “You came back, and that’s when we saw you punch through Eobard’s time machine, and you grabbed him and…”

“And I threw him back through the wormhole before it closed, yeah. I couldn’t risk fighting him again, and having Eddie die all over again. I knew I couldn’t let him get the upper hand so I just… grabbed him and did it. I thought I wanted to lock him here, in this time, to punish him but—obviously the price of that was too high. So I sent him into the wormhole and let it take him where it would.”

“But wouldn’t… I mean wouldn’t that send him back to the night your mother died… again?”

Cisco chimed in—“Not necessarily. Thawne was planning to use the wormhole to travel to the future, so the wormhole wouldn’t necessarily just have one end-point in time. He could be anywhere in time. He could be _anytime_.”

Barry let out a dry chuckle and Caitlin rolled her eyes. Trust Cisco to try and make it sound funny.

“I remember the rest,” Caitlin picked up the story, “We were all so happy. You looked so miserable though, and you were a mess when you got back—” that was putting it lightly, he distinctly remembered breaking down into sobs when Joe hugged him in the accelerator—“and we all thought it was just because you’d come back, after watching your mom…”

“That was part of it, but I—watching her, then Eddie, then the city… it was too much. I couldn’t even process the other dimension.”

“Why didn’t you tell us then?” she was looking at him in concern and he felt his face screw up, scrunching and looking away again.

“You were all so _happy_. You and Ronnie had just got married, Eddie and Iris back together, and everyone was so relieved that I came back and didn’t change the past and I just… it didn’t seem right, last night, to burden you all with it.”

Caitlin sighed and stood up, dragging him up too and the next thing he knew she was hugging him around the shoulders. An instant later, Cisco was there too, hugging him, and he breathed deep as he hugged them back.

“You can always tell us, Barry. We’re always here for you.”

“Yeah, man, we’re a team. No secrets necessary around here, we should make STAR labs a secrets-free zone.”

He nodded and held them tight, heart aching again for a different reason. There was something else in all this he hadn’t told them about.

Then all separated, standing, Cisco and Caitlin each offering him a smile he was trying to return. He was about to tell them, opened his mouth and then—

“Speaking of secrets…” Cisco suddenly looked uncomfortable, “there’s two more things I have to tell you. Caitlin already knows one, but not the other.”

Barry looked to Caitlin, who looked confused and suspicious, nose scrunching up. As always, it was a bit adorable, and probably why it was hard to take her seriously when she was mad.

“I… there’s a reason I can remember what happened in the other timeline, why I dream about it. I just figured, before, that it was because I lived through such a bad experience the first time you time traveled, but that doesn’t make sense, because technically I never lived through it, right? It didn’t even happen, because Barry went back in time and I was never murdered?” He shuddered at the memory and Barry couldn’t blame him. “I shouldn’t remember what never happened.”

“So why can you?” It was something Barry had been asking himself all morning, and had asked himself before because Iris had never remembered kissing him before he changed the timeline, and Joe had never remembered being kidnapped by Mark Mardon.

“I… I think I was affected the night the particle accelerator blew.”

What. His brain stilled, intake of air held in his lungs. Barry had had no idea. From the look she was giving him, neither had Caitlin.

“It was something Eobard said when I told him about my memory of him murdering me… that I can ‘sense the vibrations of the universe’ or something. I… it’s a stupid superpower but I think I can see alternate timelines, in my dreams at least.”

 “Cisco, that’s not stupid at all, man.”

“It’s amazing!” Caitlin readily agreed.

“Guys, I don’t know about that. Like what Barry does—he can _save_ people. I can just… see what didn’t happen,” he shook his head as he spoke but, no, Barry thought, there was something—

“Cisco—if you can see other timelines, do you think you can see other dimensions too? Like if you trained for it?”

And his head lifted up—“You mean like… like the one with the other Flash? The one you saw?”

Barry nodded emphatically.

“I don't know man, I mean I suppose it’s possible. Like all dimensions are theoretically just timelines that have branched off from some point in the past so… maybe?”

“I have a feeling that would be _really_ helpful. Because the timeline replaces one disaster with another, remember? I don’t think we’ve seen the last of that other world, not if it’s sitting right next to our own.”

Cisco nodded, expression rapt as he considered the possibilities. And then Caitlin piped up, “This talk about timelines kind of brings us around to the secret _I_ know, too…”

“Oh right!”

Barry looked between them, and they were both wearing sheepish expressions, shoulders curling upward. “What is it?”

“We… might have looked at the future newspaper again. To see if what Cisco dreamt about had changed anything.”

Barry focused on her, “And?”

“Why don’t we show you?”

He wasn’t exactly excited at the prospect of returning to the room where Eobard had watched him and Len have sex—a thought that was going to bother him for a long time—but he followed them anyway. There were probably questions he should ask Gideon, now that they didn’t have We—Eobard to worry about anymore, but he couldn’t think of any at the moment. How much did he really want to know about his future, anyway?

But then Cisco was calling up the newspaper from the disembodied voice and—holy shit.

He read the byline. 

“Iris West- _Thawne_?”

He turned to them and each were screwing up their expressions, sympathetic, wincing, but—

“Guys this is—” Barry laughed, a smile hitting the corners of his mouth, arms out— “great!”

“Great?!” it was amazing how in sync they could be, replying in unison.

“I...” he turned to read the name again, arms dropping a bit this time, face relaxing. “I’m happy for them. Eddie loves her—he would literally die for her, I watched it, I know it. And I—me and Iris talked about it. It’s too weird, with the way we grew up, and there’s just… so much space, so many land mines to dodge, the way we’ve struggled with our feelings. They’re there but… she loves Eddie and he makes her happy. That’s enough.”

What he felt, he realized distantly, as Caitlin gave him and understanding smile and Cisco nodded solemnly, as his shoulders uncoiled while he read and reread the name, was relief.

And then he read the paragraph under it. _After an extreme battle with the Reverse-Flash, our city’s own Scarlet Speedster disappeared in an explosion of light. The cause of the fight is currently unknown. According to witnesses, The Flash, with help from Central City’s Captain Cold and from Starling City’s Green…_

There was no sound of a record scratching, but his brain stopped as though there was.

Captain Cold.

His heart beat heavy in his chest, almost painful but not fast. Slow. He was almost certain that hadn’t been there before.

Captain Cold.

“Guys,” his voice was a rasp and they stepped closer. “Did you see this?”

He pointed at the name. Caitlin gasped and Cisco spoke, “What the _Helllll_?”

“That changed, right? It wasn’t there before?”

“That definitely was not there before,” Caitlin stepped nearer to it, closing in on it as if she could make it make sense by staring.

“I think… In the interest of our new ‘no secrets at STAR Labs’ policy… I have something I need to tell you guys.”

His heartbeat finally sped up, pretty much as soon as he said it. Was he ready to tell Cisco and Caitlin about Len? But Cisco had just told them he was actually a meta-human, and Caitlin had never given him a reason to lie about anything, so… maybe it was time. Maybe it had been time two months ago, when it started.

They were just staring at him, waiting. “Bar-ry?” Cisco was squinting at him, just as Caitlin said, “Are you okay? You’re not having a panic attack, are you? 

“Can we maybe… go back to the cortex? This room creeps me out.”

They gave him a skeptical look but agreed and he cast one final glance behind him, toward the words ‘Captain Cold’ and drew some reassurance from that. In some future, in the current future, Len was going to be by his side, apparently when he fought Eobard again. Len was going to be there, and whether or not they were _together_ together, even knowing that felt like enough, for now. 

On the short walk, he found his mouth could unstuck enough to bring up something that had been bothering him for a while now. “Cisco, can I ask you something… With Snart, you were always kind of _okay_ about working with him, even back with Deadline when we didn’t need him and he needed us, even though he hurt you the worst out of all of us… I just—how were you so okay with it?" 

To his surprise, Cisco was shaking his head.

“Hurt the most? No way, dude—Caitlin almost died, you almost died, you were wounded like, pretty bad. Like… Captain Cold messed all of us up. Working with him… It was just kind of necessary, right? We did what we had to do.”

Barry pressed, he couldn't not. “But he tortured your brother! He definitely hurt you more than me!”

Even Caitlin was nodding, but Cisco was giving them ‘you guys are crazy’ look.

“Yeah, but … he used a weapon _I_ made for him. I _invented_ the cold gun and I thought I’d lose you guys and STAR Labs because of it, so when I didn’t… I dunno’, it felt like stopping Cold and standing up to him was my responsibility. And when he kidnapped me, he didn’t hurt me, just freaked me out. Then he hurt Dante and I had to choose between Dante’s hands and your identity… I thought I would lose you guys for real.” He looked down then and they were entering the cortex. “I was freaked out but… I knew it was a mess I made, so I was ready for whatever happened. And my brother is okay. It actually made us closer. So I mean, Cold is terrifying and insane but I dunno’, I trust you man, and when you wanted to work with him I was on board. We’re the good guys, remember, we help people? And I still think he hurt you guys worse than me.”

It wasn’t the most reassuring answer but Barry was glad he’d asked. “And Caitlin… you were okay with working with him?”

“Well I didn’t like it.” She crossed her arms, and they were standing in a mini circle, “But I could handle it. Mick Rory was way scarier than Snart. And my husband is a man who shoots fire from his hands, so that’s saying something.”

He almost laughed. “Where is Ronnie, by the way?”

“Oh him and Dr. Stein are testing some idea of their’s in lab four… they knew Cisco wanted to talk to us in private.”

He nodded and wandered into the side room, toward the treadmill. He found that he actually was glad that Ronnie and Dr. Stein were here at the lab for a little while now, at least. It would be different without Wells, but maybe it would still feel like a family.

“But you’re stalling, Barry." 

He laughed for real this time, high and nervous. Caitlin was right.

“I…” he swallowed. This was harder than it should be. Their opinions were the ones that mattered, the people who had suffered from Len like he had, who he’d lied to and still had them stick by his side. It was definitely time to come clean. “It’s about Cold, about… Leonard. Len.” He tightened his hands and looked them each in the eye. “We’ve been sleeping together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cisco is referring to an actual thing, the ‘grandfather paradox’ which is what Eddie inadvertently created, and which has been discussed in sci-fi before: [ Grandfather Paradox](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grandfather_paradox)
> 
> Also, please let me know if there’s lingering confusion over what I decided happened with that wormhole. It’s kind of… weird. I’m blending my actual expectations for Season 2 with what I wanted/needed to make work for this fic. And I’m in denial about Eddie. 
> 
> For those who don’t read the comics or research this stuff in their spare time (I have no life), Jay Garrick’s hat was the one that came through the accelerator and prompted Eobard to say “That’s my cue to leave” and he’s from a different version of Earth (Earth 2) than Barry Allen. The show producers and cast have hinted that we’ll see Earth 1 - Earth 2 stuff next season so I felt like I might as well keep up with that. Alternate dimensions after a single season, this show doesn’t pull its punches!
> 
> And dun dun dunnnnnn~~ How will Caitlin and Cisco react to Barry’s news?
> 
> This is close to a double-update, in that the next chapter is 90% written, and I once I'm done I'll do the final read through and post it tonight, probably in a few hours :)


	23. Come on, don’t you know I know you better than that?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets some perspective

There was a heartbeat’s space of silence. Then—

“WHAT?!”

“SINCE WHEN?!”

“Oh my GOD— _Barry_?!”

“What the Hell, man?!”

He winced and closed his eyes, peeking one open after they’d gotten their immediate outburst out of the way. “Ha… so. Yeah,” his voice was unsteady, “I didn’t really plan for it to happen. We had… chemistry. It started back with Deadline…” he told them about with the pier, and Len’s safehouse, and then telling Len about Wells when he felt alone and scared and out of his depth. Told them about the plan with the slow-gun, and they gasped and he assured them he knew, it was stupid, but he didn’t trust Wells. Told them about eating pie and laughing and just _trusting_. Told them about how after that they just sort of… tumbled into it, into bed together, into stolen kisses and meaningful glances, and—

“NO way man! That’s why you volunteered to help fit him for the suit! That’s why you guys kept looking like you were going to burst out laughing! I knew something fishy was going on!”

Barry groaned and put his head in his hands. “That was the worst! Measuring his inseam with you standing right there!”

But Cisco was laughing, almost beside himself. “That’s too good, man! I had no clue. Can’t blame you for falling for those steely blue eyes.”

Barry let himself smile for just a second, but... “I can’t believe you’re so okay with this?”

“Okay? Dude, I feel like we really did walk into an alternate dimension here, partly ‘cause like, you could have mentioned you were into dudes and Cold is like _waaay_ older than you, and also tried to kill you a few times, but, I dunno’, this isn’t the craziest thing to happen?”

“I think what Cisco’s trying to say is… we’re a bit confused, but considering you ran back in time and stopped the end of the world yesterday, and y’know, how Cisco can see alternate dimensions or timelines… maybe you and Leonard Snart together just seems less insane by comparison?” she raised her shoulders and hands in a half-shrug, half question, expression exaggerated in query.

But they were all sort of smiling now, and he dragged his hands over his face. “Right. Right, yeah. I can tell you guys more about it, if you have questions?” He dropped down on the side of the treadmill and they joined him there.

“So let’s start at the basics… you never told us you were attracted to men?” that was Caitlin, and he was grateful for solid questions to focus on.

“It never really seemed relevant? You guys know how I felt about Iris, and I dated Linda, and it just… never came up. I dated guys in college, sometimes, seemed to have better luck actually,” he laughed, still a bit bitter. Young and pretty and ‘twinky’ apparently, he had definitely had more luck with gay guys in college than with girls, though he’d had some luck with both. “I came out to Iris and Joe then, and they were…” Iris had been supportive, immediately accepting, not at all surprised. Joe had voiced support and then promptly hadn’t wanted to hear anything about it, made a joke about pulling out the shotgun when one of Barry’s very few boyfriends came for dinner but otherwise seemed to pretend it just wasn’t a thing. “… they were cool about it.” He landed on. “But then I graduated and joined the force and it became easier to date women? And I never could get away from my feelings about Iris so it just kind of… stayed that way, for a few years. Didn't change me being bisexual, just didn't really come up.”

“And with Snart? If you two are having a secret relationship, why did he betray us at Ferris air?” she prompted, when he fell quiet.

Barry leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands dropping between them and he stared down. “We aren’t really together anymore, and… that was my fault.”

He told them about how things were going okay until Len killed Deadline, and then everything fell apart, he broke off contact for almost six weeks. When they needed help with the meta-humans though, “I thought I could trust him, after everything, still. I guess I was wrong…”

“So that’s it?” Cisco finally spoke up, and his forehead was scrunched in confusion, “You just dumped him, then he betrayed us, and the story ends?”

Barry flicked his gaze back at his hands, away from Cisco. He was a bit nervous to admit—“I went to see him last night.” His stomach churned and he could feel a blush pushing it’s way up his cheeks but he tried to swallow it back. “I felt lonely, watching everyone celebrate—” he glanced at Caitlin, “you and Ronnie, Eddie and Iris, and Cisco you went home to your family so I… I grabbed the flask Caitlin gave me over dinner and I went to find him.”

“And…?” Cisco prompted, even as Caitlin gave him a stern glance about the flask.

“And I did, at his regular bar, and we… had sex.” He let out a hollow laugh, “On a pool table.”

“You did _WHAT_?!” Caitlin sounded scandalized and Cisco’s mouth dropped open.

“The bar was closed!” he probably should have led with that. Or just, y’know, never mentioned it in the first place. “It was after hours, we were the only people there! It just happened!”

“I am never ever going to that bar. And you are not allowed any more Flash-proof alcohol until you learn the laws about public indecency. And for the record, intercourse on a pool table does not ‘just happen’.”

He groaned and put his face in his hands even as Cisco finally burst out laughing at her words.

“I’m never living that down am I?”

“Not a chance,” Cisco’s laugh was still bubbling up, “Wait until Felicity hears about this!”

“You wouldn’t!”

The other man just cackled and Barry pressed, “No way, she’ll tell Oliver and he’ll come here and, I dunno’, probably try to shoot Len with an arrow or something!”

Cisco was still grinning but didn’t reply, just waggled his eyebrows. So much for friends.

“So is that… are you two back together again now?” Caitlin was picking at nonexistent fluff on her skirt and he wanted to appreciate the conversation change, except that—

“No. He… he’s not… He said something about how broken things can’t be fixed, or lost things are lost forever or just… something stupid but I… I mean I was crying and—”

“Why you were you crying?”

Oh no, she probably thought—“I told him about my mom. About going back in time. That’s why I was there, actually, not just for,” his cheeks flushed a bit, “physical comfort, but emotional. Len, he…” he fought for the words, trying to explain. “It’s like, in the speedforce, when I was running back to that night, it was all these images and it was too confusing, too much energy, but then I saw some future where he was by my side, and we were fighting something, I don’t know what, and other people were there, but it was _him_ and we were on the same side. And it just _grounded_ me, and right after that, I felt stronger, like I could go to the night I needed to, and I did.”

He swallowed and glanced up at their wide eyes, then pushed on. “It happened again, when I was running in the singularity? Remember how I said the other Flash told me to find my anchor?” His heart was beating fast. “I didn’t have to ask what he meant, I just… I thought about Len.”

He remembered it, how he had thought of the last time he felt grounded, the last time that the world had felt like it made sense, the last feeling he had where he had felt total control by giving in. He had thought of Len’s lips on his neck in a dark storage room, of seeing them in the future side by side, of Len’s hands on his hips as he whispered his name like a prayer in the moonlight all those weeks ago, and he’d given up all control, and felt anchored in the speedforce.

“He’s my anchor,” Barry whispered. Caitlin rested a hand on his arm and he blinked through the burning in his eyes. “That’s why it didn’t seem to matter, anymore. That we were broken up, that we’d never really been together. That he killed Deadline and betrayed us. I just… I missed him so _goddamn_ much,” his voice broke, “I needed to see him.”

“Barr…” Cisco hesitated and then rubbed a small circle into his back.

“I know he cares but he… I messed everything up. And now he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Barry,” Caitlin leaned down to catch his eye. “I don’t think he would have… comforted you, last night if he didn’t care. You were crying, right? What did he do?”

Barry sniffed. He was really, really tired of crying. “He hugged me? And just let me get it out? I dunno’, my head was on his shoulder but I was a bit of a wreck.”

He exhaled and wiped his face, reigning it in.

“I’m not an expert Barry, but… if he’s making stupid statements about broken things, it sounds like he’s pushing you away, like Ronnie tried to push me away when he thought _he_ was broken. It sounds like, crazy or not, Leonard cares about you, and he’s maybe scared?”

“Scared?”

Cisco chimed in, “You _did_ just say you kinda’ dumped him for six weeks.”

His mouth drew downward. “Yeah but…” he sighed and pulled his hands through his hair. “I did that because _I_ was scared. Scared of what I let him do, just to protect me. He didn’t kill Deadline to protect himself, he did it because Deadline hurt me. He even told me that.”

“Is that why… you were afraid of what he could do?” Caitlin was back to patting his arm.

“No, it’s because I was mad at myself for… letting him do it. I could have stopped him and I… it's like, with Oliver and Felicity, she helped inspire him to be a better person. He made the decision to stop killing, but she was part of that. With me and Len, I… I just inspired him to murder someone, and I just watched him do it. I couldn't understand how we went from pie and sunsets to mayhem and murder and I… I didn’t want that, for me or for him. It wasn’t right, wasn’t what lo—” his voice choked off, strangled, heart in his throat—“what _this_ should be like.”

Their eyes widened, Cisco taking in a sharp breath at his almost-confession. “This is really serious, man, isn’t it?”

He nodded, didn't trust himself to speak.

“Barry,” Caitlin interjected, “did you ever _tell_  Snart that’s how you felt about things with Deadline? Or just… tell him how you felt, at all? Because in his position, he might see things a lot differently.”

He shook his head this time. He’d never said anything. Instead, he’d messed it all up.

“Then that settles it. You need to talk to him. Let him know how you feel, and if he feels the same, he’ll come around.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“If he has half an ounce of sense, Barry, he will. He might be scared to admit it, but if Snart is really this guy who buys you pie and shares sunsets and jokes,” she looked partway skeptical and almost confused at the prospect, “If he’s the guy you say he is… I really don’t doubt he feels the same about you.”

He took her hand, “Thank you, Caitlin. I don’t know what I would have done without hearing this. I didn’t think anyone would support me and him—Joe sure didn’t, and I was afraid to tell anyone else, and then even Eobard said that we were doomed to fail.”

“Wait— _Wells_ knew about you and Snart?” Cisco exclaimed.

His face hardened. “His cameras, he saw me and Len, the first time that we slept together.”

“That is _beyond_ creepy, dude!”

He turned to his friend, “I know. He called us cute.”

Cisco and Caitlin both shuddered, Cisco’s a lot more dramatic. “I think I need some brain bleach.”

“That makes two of us.”

But then Barry sighed and stood, stretched; thanked his friends, and hugged them. Now, he needed to call Len.

 

************

 

Lisa was tired, really fucking tired, of whatever the hell was going on between Lenny and the Flash. She had been sympathetic to Len’s moping, really she had. But sympathy only gets you so far before you need a swift kick in the ass.

They were supposed to have a nice sibling dinner that night. Really, they should have had one the night before, but Len wanted to go out and drink and of course, Roscoe was going to be there and Lisa really didn’t need to deal with seeing her ex, so she’d let her brother rain check for the next day.

Then the next day, today, had rolled around and she showed up at his apartment at half past five and he was just shaving, looked like he was just out of shower, tank top and jeans on, towel draped over his shoulders. There was shaving cream on half his face and she almost laughed, but settled for rolling her eyes.

“You answer your door like that, Len?”

He scowled and she noticed how tired he looked as he stalked back toward the bathroom.

“Long night?” she called down the hall after his retreating form, dropping the beer and salad fixings on the counter.

“You don’t want to know, Lise.”

Uh oh, ‘Lise’ was out. He was stressed about something. She waited until he joined her in the kitchen, until she could see his face and read his expressions, before she pounced.

“Please tell me your mood doesn't have anything to do with betraying you-know-who, Lenny.” Either that or he’d lost at pool to Roscoe, but Len didn’t really lose at pool.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Sis.”

She peered over at him, cutting vegetables and—“Is that a _bite mark_ on your shoulder?”

He immediately moved to cover it up with a hand but the damage was done. “Do _not_ tell me that’s from him, Lenny!”

He growled—honest to god, growled, he must have spent too much time with Mick recently—and went back down the hallway. She wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.

“You can _not_ be serious right now!” she followed him, leaving the knife with the cutting board.

“You do not dictate my choices, Lisa.” Len grounded out between his teeth, already pulling on a sweater over the mark by the time she reached the end of the hall.

“Don’t be a jackass, I am _worried_ about you.”

His face softened.  “Don’t be.” Placating, trying to soothe her.

She wasn’t buying it, and set him with her hardest stare, jaw set. “Tell me what happened, and I’ll decide how worried I should be.”

Then she got his considering expression, eyes intense, head titled. “No.”

“Then I’ll worry twice as much, you know—”

“Not my problem, Sis.”

Oh so that's how he wanted to play it. She put on a sweeter voice, a poison smile. “It will _be_ your problem if I show up at STAR Labs, or better yet, sneak into the CCPD, and kick his pretty pale ass to kingdom come.” 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

She followed him back to the kitchen where he grabbed a beer and started talking. She listened, her back to him so she could keep prepping food, and because he talked more when people couldn’t see his expressions. She didn’t need to though, the tone of his voice told her everything she needed to know.

The Flash had shown up, not for a fight but to get laid, and Len was stupid enough to say yes. She was going to kill him. The Flash, not Len. Though now that she thought about it, her brother could seriously use a smack.

“He used you for sex, after all that?” she turned when she asked it, and Len schooled his expression but she had enough time to see the sorrow there before he did. She turned back to the vegetables, all cut already but she stared at the cutting board anyway.

“Seems that way.”

The quiet of his voice told her what his expression tried to hide—namely, how much he was hurting. Len had always had this awful luck with guys, no relationships that would stick. Well, it wasn’t just about luck. He’d struggled a lot with that part of him when they were younger, no doubt thanks to the things their father called him without even knowing Len was gay, not that he would have changed what he said anyway, probably just said more. At some point along the way she’d seen he had come to terms with it, by the time he had his own working crew and was in charge he wasn’t hiding it anymore, but he’d never really found anyone who just wanted to be with him, not for too long, not without a lot of other mess involved.

But for the Flash to just use him, like all those other guys, for this person who Len actually cared about, who had worked alongside him, who had asked Len for help and then been betrayed, who—

“Lenny,” she stopped her own train of thought. “Why did he come to you _after_ you almost got him killed by guys who shoot lightning bolts and laser beams?”

Which, wow, that had been a sight to behold.

“He was desperate.”

“He doesn’t have other offers?” Kid like that could walk into any bar and find someone.

“He…” she barely resisted the urge to turn around, pretended to cut a bell pepper. “He told me he was having ‘the worst night of his life’. Someone he cared about died and he was a mess, so he came around and drank and asked for comfort. I provided.”

She dropped the knife and whipped around finally because—

“Lenny, are you an idiot?”

“No, Lisa, I’m—”

“No, you are, you definitely are. The Flash came to you when he was _grieving_ , not his friends or his family or anyone else, on something he called the ‘worst night of his life’—” the air quotes might have been a bit much but she was too pissed to care “—he went to _you_! After everything we pulled—you pulled—he trusted you enough to find you and what—did he cry?” Len’s dumbfounded expression was a clear yes—“He did! Oh lovely. He came to cry on your shoulder and to hold you and—fuck, Lenny, that isn’t just desperate sex, you idiot, that’s—” she bit off, bit her tongue to stop the word. That was love. Fuck.

And oh god, Lenny was doing that stupid thing where he set his jaw and fixed on some point to glare at, ignoring everything around him. He was leaning against the counter opposite to her, arms crossed, beer untouched. And clearly, he had no idea, or he was in complete denial. Len was so _stupid_ sometimes, she could kill him.

“He left, Lisa. He cut me out without a word of goodbye.”

She watched him curl in on himself and felt herself deflate. It was one of the very few times she’d seen him look smaller than he actually was. His eyes were staring at a point on the floor now, as soon as he’d spoken the words and she knew—she _knew_. They were such messes, both of them.

It was the thing they hated most—people leaving, people not saying goodbye. Len’s mom had left before Lisa was even born, leaving a hole somewhere in him before she even knew him. Their father taunted him with it. The old bastard used to say the most horrible things about his mom, called her a whore, uttered racist slurs thanks to her dark skin, ones that Len internalized, ones that the old man called him too. Her brother spent his whole life being told that his mother hadn't loved him, that people like her and Len weren't even worthy of it. With Lisa it was different, her own mother came and went, impossible to guess when she’d show up, impossible to guess when she’d disappear, until she finally stopped coming around altogether when Lisa hit junior high. She used to wonder if it was better or worse that she got that time with her mother, but she knew that however it was for her, it made it worse for Len that her mom would come around, more ammunition for their dad to lob at him, more proof his mother was worthless, that he was too.

So they had some textbook abandonment issues, and neither would pretend otherwise, at least not around each other. They had a lot of textbook issues. Their grandfather dying when she was eleven only made everything worse. And two years after that, when Len left—

“He came back, Len. Came back for your help and again for your comfort.” She couldn't think about Len leaving, but she could fixate on that. Gone forever was not the same as 'gone for now,' and he'd been the one to teach her that.

“Only because he needed something from me.”

“Or because he trusts you. Or cares about you.”

Her brother scoffed, uncrossed his arms and moved toward the dining room, toward the glass door to his balcony. Away from her. “Just drop it, Lisa.”

“Len—”

He turned sharply, raised his voice. “Why can’t you leave it be?”

His eyes were too tight, jaw too tight and it was so obvious, too obvious that he was hurting. But it would only be obvious to her, because they didn’t show that—didn’t show pain, didn’t show tears. They couldn’t, their survival had been contingent on not crying, nothing set off their old man like tears did. They’d learned to take whatever the world would throw at them with stoicism and vitriol and eventually learned to turn it around and make it fun for themselves, when they were older.

But god she almost wished sometimes that they’d unlearned that. That she and Len—right now, especially Lenny—could let out their emotions in tears and words like normal people, instead of by breaking things, instead of through finding the bottom of a bottle, and in Len’s case more than her own, in fucking their way through whatever pretty people were available until they were too numb to care. She wished Lenny had learned to cry again instead of bottling that shit up and just shutting down, shutting things out like he was right now.

“I can’t drop it because you’re hurting,” her voice was softer now, a counterpoint to his own. “What happened last night doesn’t have to be the end, if he came to you—”

“I told him it was over.”

She sucked in a breath, feeling her anger come back in an instant, eyes widening. “Why would you do that?! He comes to you grieving, you fuck him then tell him to leave? You could have fixed this!”

He glared to the side, out the glass doors leading to outside, overlooking the city. “What’s broken can’t be fixed, Lisa.”

She walked around the dining room table, ignoring the barrier he’d tried to put between them. Her face scrunched and she shook her head, “What the hell is that even supposed to mean?”

“It means he fucked up, and I fucked up, and there’s nothing left to fix.”

He was right, they had definitely both fucked up, and she would definitely be giving the Flash—Barry Allen—a piece of her mind if she ever got the chance, but for now… “Len, if that was true, you wouldn’t be such a mess over him. And he wouldn’t have went to you last night.”

Finally— _finally_ —he dropped his arms and just let down his guard, for one instant, looking at her out of eyes that were too blue, too sad. “Lisa, I don’t think I’m supposed to win this one.”

She sighed, and then because she couldn’t hold it back any longer, she stepped in and pulled her brother in for a hug. “Sometimes in life, good things really do happen, Len. You just have to let yourself believe you deserve them, instead of pushing them away.”

So yes, Lisa was really fucked tired of this game between Len and the Flash, but damn if she didn’t want to see it sorted out with a happy ending.

 

************

 

As it turned out, getting a hold of Len was rather difficult when the other didn’t want to be found. Barry had tried calling him only to discover his calls were being blocked. Shit. Maybe he should have seen it coming. He’d whipped into Saints and Sinners, but maybe also not surprisingly, no sign of him. He checked out a few other dive bars in the area to no avail, and was quickly losing his patience, but evening was closing in. He didn’t especially want to go home and deal with seeing Joe again, not after that morning and not when he was gearing up to find Len and convince the other to… something. Be with him, maybe. He hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. But either way, he didn’t want to know what Joe would have to say about it.

Instead, he went to his office. It wouldn’t help with finding Len, especially now that all his records were expunged, but it always helped him think through a problem. He’d taken the day off—Joe was making excuses for him, needing personal time, anniversary of his mother’s death—but he might as well tidy up the mess his office had become in the past month anyway. Dealing with Eobard had left little time for organizing all the stacks of folders and reports strewn around, and he still had the Wells/Reverse-Flash board to clean up.

He had just finished putting all the Wells notes in a box when there was a knock at the door.

“Iris?”

“Hey, Barr,” she was in a dark jacket with a shy smile on her face, a bag of Big Belly Burger in hand. “I thought we could chat? Dad said you weren’t home and Cisco and Caitlin said you weren’t at STAR Labs, so I thought I would try here.”

He smiled and was about to invite her in when his stomach growled at the smell of food. She laughed and took that as all the invitation she needed, coming to drop the bag on the desk.

“That’s a Flash thing, right? The food I mean.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“And the lighting psychosis?”

He groaned and dropped his head back, “Can we pretend that didn’t happen? Any of that?”

“You told me you had ESP.”

“In my defense—”

“Really, that’s defensible?”

He laughed and reached for the food, “Believe it or not—yes. I kind of, maybe sort of accidentally, ran back in time to stop a tsunami from hitting the city.”

“You _what_?!”

He winced and turned to half-sit and half-lean against the desk. “Yeah I maybe should have mentioned, yesterday wasn’t the first time I ran back. It was an accident the first time. Mark Mardon—Clyde Mardon’s brother?—he kidnapped your dad and Captain Singh was injured and you found out I was the Flash… it was all a mess. Then a tsunami was going to hit the city and I was trying to run fast enough to stop it but… I ended up running back in time by twenty four hours instead.”

Iris’s jaw was hanging. “You didn’t think to mention that?”

“We’ve been busy!”

He picked up the food in an attempt to pretend everything was normal and time travel wasn’t totally insane. “And besides, the first time I mentioned it, Caitlin had to make up lightning psychosis to get my foot out of my mouth.”

“Again, you did say you had _ESP_.”

But Iris was relaxing again, grabbing some fries and leaning against the desk next to Barry. They ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, but she dropped her fries as soon as he was done with his food and he waited for whatever she really came here to say. She turned to face him, and they were standing so close. She was as beautiful as ever, warm dark skin, big brown eyes, and there was a warm feeling in his chest, his heart—not the painful ache it just to be, not the insistent longing, just—love. Love without desire. Comfortable, familiar, but different than it used to feel, looking at her.

“Barry… I wanted to say sorry, about yesterday. About things with your mom, about… me and Eddie.”

He started to shake his head, “You don't have to apologize, Iris. We both agreed, it’s too weird, the way things are now. And I’m… I’m moving on, actually.”

“Yeah?”

And then, because they were on the topic anyway, and she knew about time travel, and mostly because she had a right to know—

“Iris… if I knew something about the future—your future—would you want me to tell you, or just leave it be?”

“The future can change, right? We can change our own futures?” her voice was tight,  anxious, but he was glad he could give that one a definite answer.

“Yes. I’ve seen it, done it. It can always change.”

She blew out a breath, and smiled at him, a little shaky but clearly steeling herself. He fought hard not to smile too much at the sight. “Then what’s the harm?”

“You know that newspaper from the future, the one that says ‘Iris West-Allen’?” she nodded. “Well… it doesn’t say that anymore. It says Iris West-Thawne.”

Her eyes lit up, smile full of joy, relief immediate, " _Really_?!" And then her face started to fall as she realized—“Oh, but Barry I—”

“No, it’s good. I’m happy for you guys,” he decided to go for broke with honesty. It was that kind of day, “I was relieved too.”

“You were?”

“Eddie loves you, Iris. And so do I, but maybe in this timeline, that’s not… I know that my love for you can grow in different ways. You’ll always be my best friend. Even if you’re Eddie’s wife. I just want you to be happy, and I think he makes you happy.”

“You really believe that?”

“He would take a bullet to protect you. He’s only ever wanted to be your hero,” he tried to hide the sudden emotion that came with that memory, Eddie's dying words. “I think you two could be really happy together, yeah.”

There were tears in her eyes as she wrapped him up in a hug. “Oh Barry. Thank you.”

He returned the embrace. “You too.”

It was good, this, being able to hug her again, no lies between them, no awkward futures looming. Then he pulled back, and realized he should tell her something else. He scratched the back of his neck and moved around his desk.

“There’s something else I should tell you, about the future. It gave me a bit of a clue about my own future with mystery man.”

“Mystery man? Oh _mystery_ man! What, you told me that didn’t work out?”

“So… I may have not given you all the details back then.” He started lifting all the folders he was supposed to be organizing, making piles for ones to return to the repository, drop off with various detectives, and still complete. Iris watched him and tidied up the food, waiting.

“Things were complicated between me and him, and I couldn’t give you the details because the mystery guy...he's a nemesis to the Flash.”

She stilled and he kept organizing—another file for Captain Singh’s pile.

“What? Are you kidding? Who?”

He took a deep breath, hands smoothing over a case file to work on the next day. “Leonard Snart. He’s ‘Captain Cold.’ And he’s—”

“ _Captain Cold_?! Barry—do you realize how _old_ he is?!”

“I know he’s a—wait, what? Old? I mean he’s only…” he had no idea. Older than him, but he’d never really given it any thought, it never really seemed pertinent. “Uhh, thirty…something?”

“Barry he’s like forty!”

He was not expecting this to be the issue. And for the record, he was pretty sure Len wasn’t forty.

“Umm. I guess? I don’t think he’s quite that old?” It was a bad time to remember that Len’s hair was definitely lightening. God, how old was he?

“Oh my god, Barry, I did not expect mystery man to be some old—”

“He isn’t old! He’s just…” if he said ‘distinguished’ right now he might as well just throw in the towel, so he tried “…old _er_.” It wasn’t much better. He dropped the file on the right stack and tried to hide his blush.

“Please tell me that my dad does not know about this.”

“No! I mean—yes, in a sense—he _knew_ back then, kind of walked in on the morning after—”

“Oh my _God_ —”

“—but he doesn’t _know_ because we sort of broke up, like I told you before.” He bowled over her exclamation—she was definitely never going to hear about the pool table if he could help it—and then bit his lip. “But now, with Len… I’m trying really hard to _un_ -break it?”

She just shook her head, exasperated but with some amusement sneaking into her eyes and the corners of her lips. “Only you, Barr, could find the one guy my dad would freak out about more than me dating his partner. I mean really, the Flash and Captain Cold? How on earth do you get into these situations?”

He quirked a small smile and dropped a folder back on the desk. “You know, I couldn’t even tell you. It just seems to happen.”

“And you’re serious about this, about… Leonard Snart? Which, for the record, if you hyphenate your last name will be the _worst_.”

He laughed, couldn’t help himself, the sound bubbling forth with a grin. He shared it with Iris who was grinning just as wide. “C’mon, Barry Allen-Snart sounds okay? Maybe he would take mine, Leonard Snart-Allen?”

Then Iris was the one who laughed, throwing back her head with it. It felt good to see her happy again. “That is the _worst_ —he is not allowed to take your name!”

He rubbed his face to hide his smile. “We are not having this conversation.”

“Oh my goodness, you have such a crush.”

He dropped his hand and stared at it for a minute, pensive. “It’s… it’s a lot more than a crush, Iris.”

He heard her inhale.

“Are you saying that you—”

“I need to say it to him. Before I say it to anyone else.”

Her jaw dropped, but she was silent.

“I need to… to get a hold of him. Things are… a mess between us. I’m trying to make it right now.”

“Barr, does he… feel the same?”

He stilled, pursed his lips. “I have no idea. But—” he continued quickly, when she looked alarmed, “—I think he might. I hope he does.”

She smiled again, and planted her palms on his desk to lean forward. “Then what are you waiting for, silly?”

He cringed because, oh it was stupid. “Believe it or not, I can’t get a hold of him? He’s blocking my calls and I—other than the places I’ve already checked, I have no way of finding him? It’s stupid but after all that… I don’t even know his address.”

He went back to the last few folders, sorting them into the requisite piles. Something of his distress must of shown on his face though, because her voice was softer, “Barry…”

“It’s fine… I’ll figure it out.” He dropped two more files on the ‘back to the repository’ pile and landed with one final folder in his hands.

For a second time that day, his brain screeched to a halt.

 _Leonard Snart_. The name on the file.

The file that he’d picked up, months ago, because his office wasn’t properly digitized and connected to the file system, before he’d ever—before he and Len had—the file Joe returned to him later, that stayed on his desk and gathered dust after—the only file left _anywhere_ on the man named Leonard Snart.

“Barry?”

His eyes flashed up. “Iris—I think I know how to find him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy and sad and just… a lot rolled into one! Hope you guys enjoyed this. I was glad to have all the females in the same chapter! (even though my fic doesn’t even pass the Bechdel test, which is killing me)
> 
> Idk if you guys ever thought that file was coming back, but I was so excited after Rogue Air because I knew exactly what to do with it. Now it just looks like I totally foreshadowed that episode or something, which I love (maybe I have ESP??). Also, Barry totally bit Len’s shoulder hard enough to mark it in Ch. 20. Love that I get to bring little things like that back in :3 
> 
> I feel like this fic has moved from intense-plot-fighting based to highly interpersonal drama. Did I accidentally jump genres? Idk, we’re just going with it. 
> 
> Almost time for the boys to start talking!


	24. If I'm falling to pieces, I know who to blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to a little help from half of the people in their lives, the boys finally start to talk

Lisa was just finishing up her meal—an hour later than planned thanks to her discussion with Len—when her phone rang. She pulled it out and—what the hell? The contact was “Cutie Pie” which was, rather aptly named if she did say so herself, the contact for Cisco Ramon. He must still have her number from coordinating back when Deadline was around. She felt herself smile even as suspicion set in.

“You gonna’ get that?”

“I’ll take it in the hall.”

She grabbed it up and marched for the hall outside his apartment as Len picked up the dishes. Once the door was safely closed behind her, she put on her sweetest voice.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Cisco? Have you finally come around?”

“Lisa,” that wasn’t Cisco, “it’s the Flash.”

Well that was… both less and more fun, actually.

“I see. And what is the Flash doing calling me? Using our friend Cisco’s number, that’s just mean you know. You’ll give a girl hope.”

“Len’s blocking my calls. I need to see him.”

Interesting. And his motives were?

“Uh uh, pretty boy. Why would I enable that mess?”

“Look, just tell me where he is—”

“‘Where he is’ is none of your business unless you tell me what your angle is.”

There was a harsh exhale. The Flash wasn’t very chill, was he?

“I want to make it right. I want to fix things between me and him.”

“Flash—”

“Lisa—look, you told me that Len cares about me. I believe you, and I care about him too. I want… I need to try, I need to tell him how I really feel.”

“And how do you ‘really feel’?”

“I’m… look, I’d really rather say it to Len, first.”

Oh _no_. They were definitely both idiots in love. At least the Flash sounded ready to admit it.

“Please. Just give me his address?”

His address? She looked at the door to his apartment. That was a bit much.

“Why should I offer up that kind of information?”

“Other than I care about him? I have something he wants, something to offer. Or… mostly something I just want to give him?”

“And that is?”

“The last remaining piece of his criminal file?”

He sounded a bit cocky, and would you look at that, the kid could play dirty. But that was… probably important—both the file, and the fact that the Flash could keep up with people like her and Len.

“Why should I believe you?”

“Want me to text you a picture?”

She did, and waited until she could see the first page of a file with Len's mug shot on it before continuing.

“Fine. Then what’s in it for me if I tell you?”

“Lisa!”

“I’m serious—I keep running around playing clean up and interference for you boys, the least I can do is get something out of it.”

“What do you even want?”

Oh good, the kid would play ball. She smiled into the phone.

“How about a date with Cisco? Calling me on his phone is just teasing, like I said.”

“A date—I’m not pimping out my friends to—“ there was a muffled sound in the background—“what?”—that wasn’t directed at her, a sound that muffled everything else, maybe a hand over the speaker, she caught—“are you…” before suddenly the Flash was back—“okay so apparently I _am_ pimping out my friends. Give me the address and I’ll pass the phone to Cisco.”

Oooh, she had not expected that to work. She grinned and rolled off Len’s address. He really would want that file, after all. And besides, what’s a little betrayal between siblings if they both got hot dates out of it?

And Cisco sounded too cute even over the phone. Her smile only grew, he sounded flustered. A date for this weekend, how perfect was that. She made sure to let him know she’d be wearing something nice before hanging up, more than pleased with the sound he made before she clicked ‘end.’

What a lovely day it was finally shaping up to be. Now to finish the dishes with her brother. She definitely wanted to be here when the Flash arrived.

 

*************

 

Barry showered at the lab after hanging up. Cisco was still grinning ear to ear and Caitlin was rolling her eyes at both of them. “I thought I was the one with the weird relationship,” she muttered.

Iris had been kind enough to bring him a nicer outfit from home, since he definitely didn’t want to run into Joe right before going to see Len. She covered for him with her dad because she was amazing. He changed his outfit into his red t-shirt and a casual jacket, smiling when Iris complimented his choices. But his palms were already starting to sweat. He hadn’t felt this nervous last night being fucked open on a pool table—a thought that now made him blush from ears straight down his chest because what the hell had he been thinking? Even remembering was enough to make his face hot and his pants tight.

“You alright, Barr?”

He nodded at her, trying to smile, trying not to think of last night, too fidgety and nervous. He really hoped Cisco and Caitlin didn’t fill her in any of the details he’d mentioned to them. She did not need the ammunition.

“Yeah, I'm gonna’… I’m gonna’ go, I guess?”

“Go get ‘im, tiger.”

He nodded to her and then was gone, across the city to the address Lisa had given him, the one he memorized. It was a high-rise with a locked main door that he phased through before stopping in front of the elevator—twenty fourth floor, that’s what Lisa had said. Phasing was easier now; everything was easier. All he had to do was think of Len and pull on some _energy_ he hadn’t known existed—the speedforce—and he could do incredible things. It was a bit terrifying how well it worked, to be honest.

The elevator dinged at the correct floor. God this had better be the right place. He stepped down the hall, suddenly wondering if he should have brought anything other than Len’s file in his bag, like flowers or a card or—no, this was Leonard Snart, Captain Cold, if anything he should have brought an ice carving.

He knocked at the door and his heart jumped up to his throat. He could hear voices inside—Len and Lisa, she was here? He almost bolted, so not ready to have this conversation, but the door was opening and he tried for confident, jaw jutting a bit, hands on his hips. He probably looked like an idiot.

“We need to talk.”

Len looked—well, amazing, in a dark green sweater, jeans, more casual than Barry—but more importantly, he looked flabbergasted. That was a new one. Barry definitely hadn’t had the pleasure of surprising the other this much before. It was gone almost instantly though, eyes switching to annoyed, angry, and he opened his mouth—

“Oh Len, who’s at the door?” Lisa’s voice was singsong from inside the apartment.

“Lisa,” he called back without taking his eyes from Barry, “Who did you say you were on the phone with earlier?”

Len was smart, or maybe Lisa was just easy for him to read. “Oh, Lenny, I don’t know what you’re—”

“Knock it off, Lisa—why is _the Flash_ on my doorstep?” he still hadn’t taken his eyes from Barry so Barry hadn’t moved either, just pursed his lips, and he could hear Lisa walking forward through the apartment. “You know, Barry,” his voice was quieter when he addressed him, words only travelling forward, “If you want to keep that secret identity intact you might want to leave now.”

Oh so that was his plan? Threaten him with Lisa finding out? “You’re still gonna’ pretend she doesn’t know exactly who I am, Len?”

 _Ha_ , yes, Len looked to the side and cocked his head in that acknowledging way he had. Barry _knew_ it. Len was such a dirty rotten cheat, didn’t play by the rules at all. For some backwards reason, the thought warmed him and almost made him smile.

Lisa came to the door then, eyes drinking in Barry with a smile he still found slightly disturbing. “So you _aren’t_ jail bait—I have to say I was a bit worried when I saw how young you looked on the CCPD website. I thought Len might robbing the cradle a bit _too_ much.”

“Lisa—”

“Really glad to see you’re older than your picture looks. You should really update it.”

But Barry's lips quirked up in an almost-smile. Lisa and Iris would get along. He extended his hand, “Barry Allen.”

She looked at it for a half second like she was amused before clasping it, “Lisa Snart. Always a pleasure to meet a gentleman.” Then she squeezed his hand incredibly hard. “And if you hurt my brother one more time, always a pleasure to bury a gentlemen.”

“ _Lisa_!”

Barry’s eyes were wide but she dropped his hand and sidled past them, flipping her hair. He didn’t envy Cisco one bit—Lisa was terrifying, probably more so than Len. “Have fun boys, play nice. And no pool tables this time!”

“You _told_ her—”

“ _LISA_!”

She was laughing and pressing the button for the elevator when Len motioned Barry inside. He was blushing again, god that story was already spreading too far. What if her and Cisco talked about it on their date—no that would be weird. But they were weird so… he dragged a hand over his face to fight the flush, not sure if it was working.

“Uhm… hi.”

“Barry.”

His heart jumped up to his throat again. They were alone, in Len’s _apartment_. This was somehow more personal than any of the places they’d been, including Barry’s room.

“You look, uh, nice?”

Len cocked an eyebrow, gaze unwavering. Shit he was so nervous. He looked around, though all he could see was the entryway way, a short hall behind Len that looked like it led to a kitchen, and the entrance to a living room. “Umm… nice place?”

“What are you doing here, Barry?”

He had a speech planned. A definite speech. He stalled for time.

“Can we maybe sit?”

Len’s eyes appraised him but he must have passed the test because he was leading Barry into the living room, a surprisingly muted tone to the décor, warm and dark wood, greys and blues, a dark leather couch and chair across from a TV. It opened onto the dining area, which looked like it turned to the kitchen. The dining room had a table that looked like it could be cherry wood, and he was starting to wonder about Len in his private life.

Looking around and at Len's back as he moved across the room, Barry stacked up what he knew. Len was someone with nice taste and a rotating and seemingly endless supply of different styles of jackets and sweaters, someone with a histrionic persona who wore a parka and goggles; he was someone who could communicate in speeches or monosyllables or just an expression; someone who had a twenty-fourth story apartment with what looked like an amazing view from a balcony beyond the dining room, and also kept a safe house (and likely more than one) in the shabbiest neighborhood in the city. Len was just all sorts of interesting contradictions.

He tried not to be too openly curious as he looked around and at Len, who had stopped and leaned against the back of a chair at the dining room table, arms crossed, facing Barry. It was a few feet from the couch where he nodded for Barry to sit. Lovely, a power move, he would stay standing and Barry would sit. Whatever, he wasn’t here to play games. He sat and pressed his palms to the tops of his thighs, trying to calm his nerves.

“You know, Red, barging into my home is a little low, even for us.”

Us. What a weird way to put it. They were both underhanded in this game though, he supposed.

“I brought you something. A… peace offering.”

Len arched an eyebrow and he grabbed the folder from his bag, held it in front of him for the other to take. Len looked dubious but he snatched the folder out of Barry’s fingers and looked down at it, eyes widening.

 

***********

 

“A peace offering?” This folder, it was… oh this, this was almost impressive. “You kept a copy?” he finally asked.

“No! I mean, not on purpose. Unlike someone, I held up my end of the bargain.” Len tapped the folder. “I mean, mostly. My office isn’t fully integrated into the system at work… I picked it up from the files repository two months ago and never read it, it was sitting on my desk and I kind of… forgot it existed until today.”

“You didn’t read it?” Len’s eyes flashed up to his.

“I was going to and then... then we slept together for the first time,” his voice was quiet, subdued for now, “And after that it didn’t seem…”

Len _mmm_ ’d and eyed the folder. “And why are you bringing it to me now? Considering what went down, wouldn’t it be only fair for you to put it back in the system—quid pro quo? Or are you here for another trade?”

He shook his head, “I’m not interested in any more back and forth exchanges, I haven't been for a long time. It’s—I’m giving it to you. Like I said, a peace offering.”

“That’s cute, Barry. It really is. A peace offering.”

But he looked down at the folder in his hands and flipped it open. The first page consisted of his mug shot, the most recent one, date of birth, physical characteristics, finger prints, a short list of some of his more dangerous crimes, whereabouts unknown. Definitely inconvenient if it was back in the system.

He flipped to the next page, next report, then the next, and the one after, feeling a greater weight in his stomach with each page turned. There was a lot, half his life summed up in a personnel file—his father and family history, local hangouts, known associates—Lisa and Mick were at the top of that list—his juvie record, simplified list of arrests, lists of crimes, of suspected murders, international known aliases.

There were psych reports too, the one from when he was a teen in juvie and then some from his younger days when they’d actually managed to get him behind bars. All the things they’d tried to diagnose him with, labels they’d tacked on—anger issues, abandonment anxiety, narcissism, dysfunctional social skills, obsessive compulsive, oppositional defiant disorder, low latent inhibition, internalized homophobia, psychopathy, dissociative tendencies, childhood post-traumatic stress disorder. A laundry list from different doctors with different politics back when the system had hope for the son of a crooked cop.

Len hated it. It left a sick taste in his mouth to wonder what fraction of it might be right. He snapped the folder shut. It was a small blessing, at least, that he would get to destroy the final piece of his records himself. He dropped it on the table behind him and crossed his arms.

“You really didn’t read this?”

Barry shook his head, then admitted, “The only thing I peeked at was the date of birth.”

Len felt his stomach uncoil a fraction, but—his birthday? “Why that?”

There was a light blush on Barry’s cheeks and he was staring straight ahead rather than at Len. He wished the flush didn’t look so good on the other man. “I… uh, it occurred to me to wonder what our age difference was.”

“A little late for that, wouldn’t you say?”

The brunet just let out a laugh and dropped his gaze to his lap. “It never really crossed my mind before?”

“And I suppose it’s not relevant now. Sated your curiosity?”

Barry nodded. Len had already known their age difference—Barry was twenty five, so that put them at twelve years apart. It wasn’t small, not by any stretch, but like he said, not exactly relevant now.

“And you really came _all_ the way here to drop this off and ask nothing in return? Got Lisa in on your games to give me something you could’ve just taken care of, if you were being so altruistic?”

“No—I, I mean it’s a gift, I don’t want anything in return but I won’t pretend… that’s not _just_ why I’m here. I wanted to talk to you, I was hoping for a chance to explain…”

“Explain?”

“Right. Right.” He seemed nervous, maybe more nervous and on edge than Len had ever seen. He stood up and Len tensed, stepping away from the chair he was leaning against to draw up to his full height, still an inch taller than Barry. But Barry stopped two feet from him and planted himself there, steady.

“I should start with… I’m sorry. For not answering your calls, after what happened.”

He narrowed his eyes and said nothing. After a minute, Barry seemed to accept his silence and kept talking.

“I was… scared, Len.” He couldn’t lie, that hurt, and felt himself get angrier in defense. It must have shown on his face because Barry quickly corrected—“Not scared of you, scared of me.” Which… was not what he was expecting. He searched Barry’s gaze for a lie, found none. “I was horrified that I just let you—I mean I could have done something to stop you. Should have done something. I could move again and I… I’m just as responsible for his death as you are.”

“You’re an idiot.” He hadn’t meant to speak, wanting to stay silent and drag Barry out, but this—what the hell was he thinking? “Do you blame yourself for that laser-shooting meta-human too? Not every death in Central City is on your shoulders, kid.”

He watched Barry wince. “I do blame myself for what happened with the metas. You even said it was on me.”

He had said that but he was being an asshole, and he really hadn’t meant that the death of that one guy was on Barry. “You do realize I’m the one who killed both of those men, right?”

“I realize you saved my life both of those times.”

Their gazes locked, some tense impasse. What was Barry playing at?

“If you’re here for some misguided guilt-trip—”

“I’m not.” Barry was tense and tight but then he seemed to let go of some of his tension, relaxed his stance in a deliberate way and looked down at the space between them. It was almost harder to handle—the tense challenge, that side of Barry he could push back against. The vulnerable side was a lot more difficult to navigate. “I’m trying to explain that I… with Deadline especially, I let myself do something I never thought I could—I let a man die when I could have stopped it. That makes me partly responsible, Len.”

“Your moral code is too rigid, Scarlet.”

His lips quirked up, “You’re probably right. I just… I didn’t want to be the one who inspired you to avenge me. To kill not just to protect me but _for_ me. Back then, I thought we brought out something dark in one another, and that it was for the best that we just… didn’t go down that path.”

It was such a… _Barry_ thing to say. 

“You got what you wanted then, didn’t you? To preserve your moral high ground?”

“No!” Barry actually stepped forward, one hand coming up halfway between them and suspending there, hesitating, and Len tensed all over, resisted the urge to step back. Then his voice was softer, “No, Len, I… That’s not what I wanted at all. It wasn’t about morals, it was—I thought if we brought that out in each other it was better not to be together, better because I didn’t want that for… my partner.” He swallowed and Len felt something in his chest clench, tight and painful. “To be totally honest, I was scared too—everything was too intense, like just being around you turned up the dial and life got so much more intense, sharper just ‘cause you were in it. And after, I tried to convince myself it was the right thing to do, but every day—every _single fucking_ day—I missed you.”

Len inhaled, sharp and quick, throat constricting around the breath, not wanting to let it escape. Barry had stepped closer, eyes determined, bright and wet. “I told myself it was for the best. I was _sick_ and _tired_ of watching people die and I was _drowning_ ,” his words were coming out through clenched teeth now, too much emotion seeping up and he was coming into Len’s space but he couldn't move away. “I told myself my friends would never accept it, that the Arrow and Joe and Iris and Cisco and Caitlin would all hate it. And I caught of glimpse of a future, a future that made me think we'd never work, so I told myself you would forget, and _I_ would forget, and then I needed your help and you—”

He broke off and Len could see it now, finally, the suffering, the tears in Barry’s eyes that he had put there, angry and spiteful, so eager to play to villain in their maudlin tale. “I proved you right.”

Barry sucked in a breath to steady himself and Len felt like he was absorbing Barry’s pain through the simple space between them because it _hurt_ —everything down to his bones, down to his teeth and his toes. Like he was hurting for both of them and Barry was crying for both of them. And he couldn’t stop his hand, it just came up between them and drifted its way onto the soft skin of Barry’s cheek, thumbing over the tears. And Barry didn’t flinch, he leaned into the touch instead. Nuzzled into Len’s hand while holding his gaze like a lifeline.

And he couldn’t do this.

“I told you,” he whispered, surprised that he couldn’t push his voice above that volume, surprised at how raspy it sounded. “I told you what I am, Barry. Just like I told you that you can’t get back what you’ve lost.” Because he couldn't, because he'd fucked up and lost Barry and he couldn't let himself believe or hope for it again. And that thought was too much.

Len drew in a breath, needing more air, and it burned. He had to step back, suddenly liked a trapped animal needing to escape, about to push by Barry but the other grabbed his arm and it was another jolt of electricity, always so charged between them. He started and tried to pull away, ready to shove, suddenly angry (afraid), suddenly anxious (hopeful). But Barry’s grip was strong, holding both of his arms now and he stepped closer, evaporated the space between them and if he kissed him Len would shatter.

But he didn’t kiss him.

Len shuddered out the breath he was holding and it burned again on the exhale. But he was still, and Barry was an inch away and meeting his eyes, red-rimmed but so much steadier than Len felt. And his hands relaxed on Len’s arms and then slid upward. He almost pulled away but those hands cupped his neck and then his jaw, fingers curling around to the back of his head, thumbs smoothing over his cheeks like he’d just done to Barry. And then he took it further, bringing his forehead to press against Len’s, nose rubbing gently against his own and it was too much. It fucking _ached_.

“Please Len, please just let me say this, and after I do, if you want me to leave I will. Please.” And he nodded because _fuck_ , what else could he do. He couldn’t deny Barry anything if he tried.

Their breath mingled there, and Len felt like he was breathing in Barry, not sure if he was drawing strength from it or falling apart. He felt himself trembling, held too tight and coiled, on the edge of some precipice. He needed all of Barry or nothing because he could not. handle. this.

And then Barry started to speak, soft in the fraction of space between them. Len could feel the air move on his lips as Barry whispered.

“You say this thing between us is lost and we can’t get it back, but Len, I was just starting to feel like it was something I had _found_. I don’t think it’s broken—I think it’s just being _built_.” He swallowed and Len could almost feel it in his own throat. “I was wrong about Deadline too, because you saved me. Whatever I bring out in you, whatever you bring out in me, I know that it’s more than just something dark—it’s intense and it’s terrifying but it’s… it’s the need to protect and the need to, to… just, then, now, and whatever, whoever you are, and whatever I am… I want this.” His heart was beating too fast, hammering in his chest. And Barry must have felt it too because his hands drifted down to his chest, pressing over that, and then down more, taking Len’s hands, tight balled up fists, unclenching them, entwining their fingers together. Barry’s hands were shaking as much as Len’s.

“Life is more intense with you there but you _ground_ me and you make the noise go away, make the world slow down when I’m running too fast and I... I came to you last night because you’re my anchor in a storm. You’re the one person I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to before going back in time and the one regret I would have had. You’re… I…" He met Len's eyes and his heart almost stopped. "What I’m trying to say is that I love you, Len. I’m _in_ love with you. And however crazy it is, I don’t care anymore. I love you. And I just needed you to know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY.


	25. A million ways to say I Love You, and I only need this one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys find even ground again

Len’s mouth slowly dropped into an ‘o’, forehead creasing as his eyebrows drew together. No one, literally no one, had ever said those words to him before.

He dropped Barry’s hands in shock. A spark ran through his fingers and then his hands shot out again because he _needed_ to touch Barry again, right now, to hold him. He latched his hands to Barry’s neck and pulled him in, crashing their lips together. Lean arms circled his waist immediately, Barry returning the fervent kiss. It was desperate and intense, open-mouthed and heady, his chest lighting up his entire body in an ache that now felt both painful and perfect at once. Barry loved him, and if he never said it again, if he regretted all of this from one minute to the next, Len would capture this moment and keep it forever.

He pulled back to get air, to breathe but Barry didn’t let him go, kept kissing him so they didn’t stop and he wrapped one arm around Barry’s slender waist to hold him as close as physically possible. The other’s arms slid up to his shoulders and held him tight and any space between their bodies was long gone.

Barry loved him. It didn’t seem real.

He pulled back again, set their foreheads together like they’d been a minute ago, breathing ragged.

“Say it again.”

He needed to hear it.

“I love you.” Barry’s voice held the same quality to it as his own—longing, aching, needing.

He kissed him, then—“Again.”

This time Barry let out a half chuckle, nerves and relief washing into the sound. “I love you.”

He kissed him again. This couldn’t be real.

“Again.”

A full laugh this time, Barry was smiling now, bright and breathtaking, arms gently cradling Len’s shoulders still and he leaned back to look him in the eye. “I love you, Len.”

Fuck, it sounded so good. He kissed Barry, one hand dragging through his hair and the other tight around his waist. And Barry kissed him back, impatient all over again, tongue in his mouth and Len wouldn't complain. They kissed deeply until his clothes felt too warm, until Barry’s hands, sliding down from his shoulders and around him, warm against his back, until those hands felt too distant overtop the layers of clothes.

He pulled away, about to ask, but Barry beat him to the punch this time—“I love you, Len.”

Len let out a strangled breath. This felt amazing, too good, like something inside him was exploding outward, like if the sensation didn’t dull it would consume him in the best possible way. Like he’d jumped off the ledge and found out he could fly.

Then Barry was kissing his cheek, his jaw, his neck, his earlobe, nibbling there and whispering in his ear, “I love you.”

And he couldn’t find his voice so he nodded and Barry chuckled, bit the lobe a little harder this time and then licked the skin underneath it, kissed it after. “I love you.”

Len almost keened, just hearing the words alone made everything light up. He pressed his hands under Barry’s red shirt, under that jacket and he enjoyed the other’s gasp, his hands so much colder than Barry’s skin. “I want—”

“ _Yes_ ,” Barry replied, voice still by his ear, lower now, hungrier.

God, he needed to kiss him again. It was more important than air. He kissed Barry until he was dizzy with it and then he dragged him—pushed him really, stepping forward and forcing Barry back—toward the nearest wall. He pulled Barry’s hips into a line with his and slid his hands up, gripping the lapels of his jacket and rolling it off Barry’s shoulders, down. The other shrugged out of it then pressed his shoulders back against the wall, his hips forward into Len’s and his body felt like it was on fire. His hands were up Barry’s shirt, dragging it off next, Barry’s own sliding up his body in turn, taking his sweater and undershirt along.

Then Barry grasped the back of his head and neck, thumbed his jaw and pulled him in for another searing kiss and fuck it felt so good. Barry’s teeth pulled along his bottom lip and he rolled his body against Len’s and then they were switching positions in the blink of an eye. Barry suddenly had Len pressed against the wall and he clutched the other’s lean waist to orient himself at the quick shift, even as Barry broke the kiss to nuzzle his neck.

“Now that’s just cheating,” Len’s voice was low and dark and amused.

Barry was kissing down his neck and in a second he would find that particularly sensitive spot just at the— _ah_ , Len hissed in pleasure and ground his hips into Barry’s. Found it.

“Figured I’d have to fight dirty to keep up with you,” Barry murmured the words against his skin and punctuated them by kissing that spot again. Bastard. Len’s face was struggling to grin and gasp at the same time. It hadn’t settled on either expression by the time Barry was there again, kissing him on the lips.

He slid his hands down the warm, smooth skin of Barry’s back, and it was still surreal that he was smiling, flirting, kissing. That he had Barry in his arms and it didn’t hurt. He pulled back—“Could you say it—”

“I love you.”

If Barry thought he was crazy he didn’t show it, just bridged the gap between their mouths again and smiled into the kiss. It felt so good, too good. He couldn't stop thinking that, smiling then nipping Barry's lip in retaliation. Len dropped his hands down to grasp the other’s too perfect ass, and it was Barry who pulled back, kissing Len’s jaw again, hands sliding down to his belt buckle. Their hips were still aligned until Barry dropped onto his knees and started making work of that buckle. And god he looked good too, grinning up at Len, eyes dark and eager as he pulled Len’s quickly hardening erection out of his briefs.

He looked divine. Then Barry was _licking_ , a long line from base to tip and “Fuck, Scarlet,” it felt better than good. Very good. Great. Better than that, even. But Barry was just teasing, licking the underside then swirling his tongue around the head, then each side, left then right, enough pressure to make him groan but barely more than that. He finally started to suck on the tip and Len dropped his hand to the back of Barry's head but it was _so slow._  It was like he had taken lessons from all the times Len had teased him doing something similar, because _fuck_ this wasn’t near as sloppy as the last time. It went on and on, too slow, tongue swirling around the tip, then along the underside, pulling Len deeper gradually, sucking harder until he felt like his brain was pleasantly melting. Len opened his eyes, which had drifted closed some minutes ago and looked down, one hand carding through Barry’s hair, and he was pretty sure those red lips had never looked better.

“You gonna’ tease me all night, handsome?”

Barry pulled off with a pop, smirking up at him. “Y’know you only call me that when we’re about to have sex.”

He did know, because he doubted Barry would appreciate it if he called him ‘beautiful.’ He just chuckled in response. “Should I interpret that ‘yes take me to bed’ or a ‘yes I’m going to tease you until you’re crazy’?”

“Bed?” Barry laughed, “Though, I mean there is a perfectly good wall right here, so that’s always an option, not to mention a carpet, a couch, a particularly nice table—”

“Mmm, all tempting options. All options to explore another day.”

With that he titled Barry’s chin up and the other stood, following Len’s fingers until they were kissing again. He was pretty sure he never wanted to stop kissing Barry, never wanted to hear anything again but his voice. But they had a bed to get to, so he used their position to grip Barry’s ass again and started walking them toward the hallway, toward the bedroom. They had to stop first for Len to kick out of his pants, happily naked, and then again every few feet to press one another to nearest wall, kissing, groping, Len sucking a mark along the base of Barry’s neck, undoing his pants, cupping him through his briefs. It was a wonder they made it to the bedroom at all.

They did make it though, Len letting Barry kiss his neck, which was distracting as he was trying to peel both the other’s jeans and briefs down at the same time. He managed eventually, sliding the garments down Barry’s long legs, leaning down to do it and taking a moment to revel in all the skin on display—smooth torso, lean hips, strong and powerful muscles in his legs and, yes, flushed and swollen cock. He wanted to settle onto his knees and take Barry apart piece by piece with his mouth, but the other stepped back with a cheeky grin and dropped onto the bed behind him instead.

Len stood back up and smirked at him before turning to grab the requisite supplies from his side table. In the moment before he turned back, Barry had stretched out in the middle of the bed, and _fuck_. He looked too good, splayed out against his sheets, resplendent and pale against the black of his bedspread. Barry here, in his bed, waiting for him. _His_.

Len’s mouth when dry at the sight. He joined him on the bed, settled himself in between Barry’s parted thighs, delighting in the flush of his cheeks, the darkness of his gaze. Then Len kissed him again, gentler now. He wanted to take his time, wanted to pay homage to the beauty that was Barry, a pilgrim at this temple. And Barry met him kiss for kiss even as Len pressed his hands along his prone form, over his chest and down the sensitive skin of his sides, making Barry tremble slightly as he did. He almost couldn’t believe he got to see Barry like this, to touch him, to hold him and caress him—Barry was too beautiful, inside and out and he—

“Say it again.” Len pulled back and asked it, probably sounded desperate but he was too far gone to care. And Barry leaned up, bridging the gap between their bodies until he was eye to eye with Len, one hand wrapped around the back of Len’s head and neck, brushing the short strands there.

“I love you, Len. I love you.”

Thank god. He kissed Barry again and let his hands roam, sliding downward until his fingers were trailing over lean hips, parting muscled thighs. Barry stretched back again, stretched his legs, body the picture of supplication. He was too beautiful.

Len slicked his fingers and pressed them into Barry, already on edge himself. The strangled gasp Barry let out sounded like relief. Barry's hands went under his own hamstrings again, like the first time they’d had sex, pulling his legs wider for Len, letting him _take_. And take he did, fucking his fingers into Barry, kissing his way up the other's torso, his chest, free hand stroking Barry’s cock, hard for him. And it didn’t take long for the other to start rolling his hips, pressing back and down on Len’s fingers as he kissed his neck, his clavicles.

With one last, quick grip on Barry’s cock, he released it and reached for the condom he’d placed close by.

“Wait,” Barry whispered and Len stilled, drifted his hand back and trailed his fingers down the other's thigh to watch him tremble, condom held between his thumb and forefinger.

“We don't—I don’t, we don’t need to use that,” he put his fingers over the condom wrapper in Len’s hand.

Len’s cock twitched, the possessive urge soaring up like a blaze inside him. “Are you sure?” He asked against Barry’s soft skin, nosing against his neck. He felt his lover nod first, then speak.

“Yes—I’m clean, had way too many blood tests not to be sure and I—”

“I am too—”

“And we did it once before, this way, at your safehouse and it felt—”

“ _Incredible_.” He had forgotten they didn’t use a condom that time, it was the middle of the night and he was languid and tired and god, it had felt so good, felt like making love and yes—he wanted that again. He remembered the sight of Barry in the moonlight, riding him, then under him, pressing into the lithe body until Barry came without being touched. Len threw the condom wrapper to the ground.

“You’re amazing,” he rasped into Barry’s ear, kissing his jaw after.

“I want you inside me, with nothing in the way, nothing else between us.”

Just the thought was making him so hard it almost hurt. Barry as his, fully his, his body, his laughter, his smiles, his desperate, wanton moans, his love. Len had to kiss him again, overtaken by the need. And his right hand was still inside Barry, so he pressed in harder, stretching all three digits out and making the other groan. Then he felt Barry grab the bottle of lube and there was a warm, slick grip on Len’s cock. He gasped into Barry’s mouth and the other groaned again, pushing himself down on Len’s fingers, pushing his head forward into the kiss, tongue against Len’s swirling in time with Barry’s hand on his cock.

Len broke the kiss first. “I need to be inside you.”

“Yeah,” Barry was panting, “yes,” and he was stretching out out, letting go of Len's cock and angling his hips before him. Almost with lament, Len finally took his fingers out and lined himself up, tip against that slick entrance, waiting just for him.

“ _Yessssss_ ,” Barry let out the sound, moaning as Len pressed past the tight ring of muscles and into his body. Len matched the sound, swearing as he pushed in, up to the hilt, body still leaning over Barry. One hand was gripping the other's lean hip and the other was holding onto his thigh, holding him in place while Barry gripped the sheets and held himself steady for Len’s cock. His eyes were blissed out already, blown wide and his face was flushed as he looked up at Len and whispered, “I love you.”

Len's hips snapped forward hard at the sound, pressing him impossibly deep into Barry, moaning as he did. Fuck—it was tight and hot and it felt so good, like heaven and sin. He started thrusting, pressing in, carving out a space for himself in Barry that existed for him and him alone. He held his lover's hips and sides while Barry clutched at his back and shoulders, bodies entwining as they alternated nuzzling and kissing, gasping and groaning.

They might having been fucking for five minutes or five hours, Len honestly couldn’t say. Time blended together and the only things that seemed to matter were the feeling of pressing into Barry, the taste of his skin, the cadence of the noises he made. It was a mix of cries and gasps and then whimpers as the sensations built up, becoming too intense and Len could feel it, feel Barry slowly start to tense under his fingers. He kept the pace agonizingly slow even as Barry’s hips started to roll upward with greater speed, and he clamped his fingers down to slow the other, pushing deeper but not faster. Barry made a chocking noise between a cry and a gasp and Len leaned up enough to kiss him, to swallow any more noises he would make.

And then he brought his hand down in between them, finally gripped Barry again, moving his hand in time with his hips. Barry started to whisper against his mouth, desperate nonsense, babble, fingers sliding over Len’s sweat-slicked back and Len rolled his hips harder, not faster, Barry’s cock hot and hard in his hand. “Please, yes, Len, Lenny, god, Lenny, yes, Len, please, yes, please, fuck, Lenny—” over and over, interlaced with whimpers and Len kissed his way along Barry’s jaw and let his ears drink in the whispered prayers.

When his muscles started to tremble, almost shaking with exertion, and Barry stared to quake he pressed in deeper, harder, snapping his hips forward _finally_ faster, building speed and riding the wave of intensity. He pulled back to look at Barry—mouth open and red, hair matted with sweat, eyes mostly closed and lidded, dark, cheeks flushed. It shouldn't be possible, he was too beautiful.

Len was on a ledge, body tensing and “Say it again,” he begged, voice broken and jagged and _needing_.

And Barry’s eyes snapped open, wide and desperate, wet with tears of pleasure, “I love you. Fuck, Len, Lenny I love you I love you I love I lov—”

Len was coming then, groaning Barry’s name and emptying himself into the deepest recesses of his body, the other clenching so hard around his cock, quivering toward his own orgasm, body spasming around Len. He looked down at Barry as he came, forcing his heavy eyes to stay open so he could _watch_ as the other kept gasping the words, declaring his love. It was too good, ecstasy too pure he might black out, an incredibly long orgasm that seemed to just keep _going_ as Barry shuddered around him and came.

Then they were both gasping and spent, holding onto one another, breathing in air that smelled like sex, like them. It was minutes before he found the wherewithal to move off Barry, and when he did it was only to roll over and lay on his back, warm and content.

 

*************

 

They showered together afterward, sated and half sleepy. As far as Barry was concerned Len didn’t like the water hot enough, but he stopped complaining when Len started to wash his back, then raked fingers through his slick hair and kissed the side of his neck.

“I’ve never shared a shower before,” Barry murmured, and Len stepped closer behind him, bringing his chest flush to Barry’s back. He felt Len’s hand circle around him and smooth over his chest, his heart.

“It beats so fast.”

He nodded, bringing his hand up to entwine the fingers with Len’s, dropping his head back onto the other’s shoulder. “Ever since the lightning.”

“Do you ever miss it?”

“Hmm?”

Len’s chin was hooked forward over his shoulder and Barry closed his eyes so water wouldn't fall into them. “Your life before all this—before being the Flash.”

No one had ever asked him that. Still, he knew the answer. “No. No I don’t think so. I’ve spent too much time focused on the past, and even on the future. I think I need to just… be here, the present. Y’know?”

Len started to nod against his shoulder, then gave up the movement to press another gentle kiss to Barry’s neck. “Let’s get you to bed, you’re half asleep.”

It had been a long week, after all. They got out and he let Len wrap him in a soft towel, then gave up the need to be dry in favor of the need to hug Len. He almost couldn’t believe it still. He was here, in Len’s apartment, his home, his bedroom. He was here with Len.

“I love you,” he needed to say it again.

Len pulled back from the hug to smooth thumbs over Barry's still-damp cheeks. His eyes were so blue, ice and sky and spring rain in the mountains.

“I still have a hard time believing how this could be real,” Len’s voice was soft, a velvet quality to it. “How I could be half this lucky.”

And Barry was starting to understand that Len really was as terrified as him, and maybe more. Barry had walked away once before and Len was still willing to fight for this, willing to be with him. And he was stating to understand that Len needed the reassurance of those words, needed it like Barry needed Len's arms around him. 

So he simply said it again, “I love you.”

And Len looked at him with this brittle smile, one that was scared and vulnerable and _real_ and it took his breath away. Barry leaned up to kiss him, soft on the mouth, thumb brushing the side of his neck, as though he was fragile, precious. Because he was.

“I love you too,” Len whispered against his mouth. “I love you so much that I—” his words were too quick, full with emotion, too much and he stopped talking, inhaled sharply against Barry’s mouth but Barry couldn’t help but smile. He wouldn’t have cared if Len couldn’t say it back, but it felt so good to hear, a sensation of warmth blossoming in his chest and spreading out to encompass his whole body, almost aching but warm and _right_. He was full to the brim with it and kissed Len, putting his love into the kiss like Len had spent the whole evening doing every time Barry had uttered those words, saying what words alone could not.

 _I love you._ A kiss. _I'm here for you._ A kiss. _You’re safe with me._ A kiss.

They made it back to the bed after that, Barry curling into Len’s side, letting Len wrap an arm under his shoulders and pull him close. Len was definitely a cuddler, he’d noticed that.

“We’re really doing this, right? Being boyfriends,” it sounded silly when Barry said it aloud.

“I would say lovers, but yes, we’re doing this. Unless you’re having doubts?”

Barry hated that there was still low undertone of anxiety in Len’s voice. He leaned up on his elbows to look at him. “No doubts. I want this. I want you. I love you.”

And then there was a shy smile from Len, eyes down and away, an expression so soft he’d never have imagined it on the other’s face until he saw it. “And I, you.” He whispered back.

And it was almost too cute, Barry couldn’t help himself. He pressed a kiss to the tip of Len's nose, making him laugh.

“I’m glad I get to see this side of you,” Barry admitted. He loved the intense side too, but this smiling, gentle man with an arm wrapped close around him, he could get used to this.

“Hmm, I’m made of more than puns and armed robbery, you know.”

 “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Mmm,” Len kissed his shoulder and he smiled.

“Don’t tell me you’re a closet romantic? Long walks on the beach? Candles and champagne?”

“I’m more a red wine person, myself.”

Barry snorted, “You mean beer and vodka, right?”

“Those are good too.”

“Heh, well I won’t get my hopes up for too many grand romantic gestures.”

“You know I _do_ enjoy spoiling people.”

He flopped back down on the bed. “Mmm, I’d noticed, believe it or not. You definitely don’t hold back from doing that in bed.”

Barry couldn’t see Len’s expression, staring up at the ceiling and laying next to him, but he felt Len shift beside him. “It’s not… too much, is it?”

He almost laughed, “No. If you haven't noticed, I kind of I like your possessive streak.”

Len leaned up on one elbow to look down at Barry, brushing his fingers over his chest, contemplative look to his face.

“Possessive is one thing... I’ve been a bit rough with you at times—you bruise, I’ve seen it, between the hickeys and bite marks, my fingers on your hips.”

Barry smirked at the one on Len’s shoulder. “That’s gone both ways.”

“Not that much though.”

“I know but I…” Barry felt himself starting to flush again. “I really do like it—the marks, I mean… the possessive side. I’m not used to… to people wanting me, being jealous over me. It’s kind of a rush.” He had to look away as Len’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. This was embarrassing to actually say out loud. “And healing so fast just makes me want it more. It’s like my body erases it, wipes the slate clean but I want my body to _remember_ it instead, to make _last_. So yeah, it’s a little possessive, a little rough but its…good rough. I’ll let you know if it’s ever too much.”

“Keep talking like that, Scarlet, and I’ll be ready to go another round.”

Barry’s eyes flashed up and he couldn’t help but smirk. That might be fun. “You know my refractory period already, I’m definitely game to figure out yours.”

Len’s eyes grew dark for a moment then he chuckled, “My body’s still aching from tossing you around the bar yesterday, I’ll have to rain check until morning.” He laid back and then rolled on his side, prodding Barry along and turning him until Len was spooning him, one arm pillowing his head and the other wrapped loosely around his waist. Definitely a cuddler.

When he spoke, it was quietly, head close behind Barry’s. “Since we’re not exactly a _normal_ couple—heroes and their nemeses don’t normally shack up I gather—shall we lay down some ‘ground rules,’ about how this works?”

Barry _hmm_ ’d. It was probably a good idea. He was honestly too tired to really worry about it at the moment, so he sorted to the most important thing that came to mind. “Obviously, no kidnapping or hurting my friends and family.”

“Obviously. No sending Lisa or Mick to prison.”

“I can live with that,” he thought for a moment, waking up a bit, “No double-crossing each other.”

Len was silent for a beat, hand stilling for a moment from where it had been drifting along Barry’s abdomen before resuming. “I’m sorry you got hurt,” he murmured, shifting closer, “But I'm not sorry I did it. Solitary prison without trial… you weren’t doing them any favors, Barry.”

Barry laced his fingers into the ones gently brushing his skin. “What if they hurt innocent people?”

“What if they don’t?”

He sighed. “We were going to rehabilitate them, you know.” Though he wondered if that was even true anymore. None of the STAR Labs team were in any way qualified, they were all just blindly following Wells’ idea in the first place. After a pause, he kept talking, “can we at least agree on the double-crossing? Next time, you can at least tell me what you’re planning?”

“We can agree on that. I won’t betray you.”

He felt something loosen in his chest. “Your turn.”

“How about… no conversations about our age difference.” Something simple, lighter, to put them on solid ground again. Barry appreciated it.

“Tell that to Iris and Lisa. But fine, in that case, no taunting Joe about us just because you can.”

Len voice was sardonic and lilted. “Now you’re just trying to ruin my fun.”

Barry let himself laugh, then smiled. “You know, he realized… months ago. That morning after he found you in my room. He asked when I had… when I’d found time to fall in love with you. I thought he was exaggerating and I was confused about how I felt but I… he was right, you know. I think I felt this way then, too. I think I felt it by the first time we slept together. I just wasn’t ready to accept it.”

Len breathing into Barry’s hair. “I knew when I… after Deadline. I realized then.”

The sound Barry let out was humourless, “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay. If that’s what it took to get here, to get you here… I can’t apologize for what I am, Barry. For who I am. I’m not going to stop stealing or suddenly be…”

“I know, Len. I wouldn’t ask you to. Wouldn’t want you to be anyone but who you are.”

“Even after everything I’ve done?”

It made him ache that Len had to ask, still.

“After everything.” Barry turned enough to look him in the eye. “I fell in love with who you are, eyes wide open, not with some pretend version of you in my head. I love _you,_ Len.”

Len looked almost vulnerable, eyes searching Barry’s expression. “I’ve had a dark life at times, Barry. There’s a lot things you don’t know, about my past, about my family, my—”

“It’s okay. There’s a lot you don’t know about me either. And I won’t press. I want you to tell me about it when you’re ready. And I’m ready to listen whenever you are, if you ever are. We’ll get there. For once, I’m not in a rush.”

He felt relieved when Len hugged him close and kissed his temple, mumbling a thank you. “Any other conditions?”

“Not that I can think of right now. You?”

Len sighed and spoke mostly into Barry's shoulder. “You don’t attempt to hide me, from your friends or family. I don’t expect to come to family gatherings or anything, and obviously you can’t tell your coworkers, but I don’t want to be your dirty little secret.”

Even the thought hurt Barry’s heart. Had people tried to hide Len before? He supposed it would be a realistic concern, what with Barry working for the police and dating someone with Len’s list of priors but… he rolled over, needed to say this to Len’s face, even if the other was avoiding eye contact.

“Of course, Len, I’d never want to hide you,” he paused and then said what he really needed to say, "I’m not ashamed of you—of being with you.“ Len's face softened and so did the feeling in Barry's chest. "And besides, Cisco and Caitlin already know, and so does Iris actually. And I’ll talk to Joe when I get home and—oh _shit_.”

“What?”

“I need to tell my dad about you.” Barry laughed but it sounded slightly hysterical even to his own ears, bubbling up out of nowhere.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“Well, he’s in Iron Heights, so at least he can’t threaten you with a shotgun or anything. But he might take some exception to me dating a criminal.”

“He’ll get over it,” and there was that easy confidence again, as though the sadness on his face from a few minutes ago was resolved. Maybe it was. Barry let himself smile. His dad might take some exception to all of this, but right now he too happy to worry about it.

“You know, Joe’s probably gonna’ threaten to arrest you—again.”

“I’ll consider myself warned.”

“And Iris will want to meet you.”

“Noted.”

“And Eddie will probably have words for you.”

“Are you friends all ridiculous?” Len’s words were grumbled but he was smiling, indulgent. Barry nipped his jaw.

“Your sister threatened to bury me.”

“Touché.” Len nipped his ear in retaliation. “Any more people I should be prepared to meet?”

“Other than my friend Felicity…” he hesitated, “probably the Arrow.”

“The Arrow?”

“Trust me, he’ll have something to say when he hears about us.” That was an understatement. Barry had no idea what to tell Oliver, and how to say it that wouldn't prompt his friend to arrive in Central with a full quiver of arrows and an interrogation planned. He'd figure it out.

“I didn’t realize you were such good friends with the Starling City Vigilante?”

Ah, right. “It’s a long story, one for another day.”

“Mm, looking forward to it.”

“We’ll get to it all, with time.”

With that, Barry curled into Len. They were both still a little nervous, a little excited, a little sore—him especially, though not for long—but mostly exhausted. What mattered, though, was that they were together, and it felt good. It felt right. There was more ground to cover, people to tell, things to figure out along the way. It wouldn’t be perfect, nothing ever was, but it was _theirs_ , and that was enough.

 

 

 

**END**

**(jk – there’s an epilogue)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY FLUFFY EPILOGUE IS THE ONLY THING LEFT, YO. IT IS SAPPY AND CUTE AND FUNNY.


	26. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five glimpses of their first year together

A week after they had officially started dating, Iris and Len finally met.

Now that they were dating, Barry had taken the time to explain things with Iris to Len—their weird history, his old feelings for her, how those feelings had started to change after he’d fallen for Len, everything. He hadn’t really planned on it, but Len asked some penetrating questions and was like a dog with a bone when there was something he wanted—information or otherwise. Barry wasn’t especially good at lying to someone when they asked him things upfront, and Len was too good at reading him anyway.

Of course, Len had been a bit jealous, meaning one thing led to another, and Barry figured he was just lucky Len hadn’t tattooed his name somewhere on him by the time they were done having sex on every surface of Len’s apartment. He also made a mental note that if he was every horny and needed to seduce Len, giving him any reason to be jealous was a surefire way to do it. Maybe he’d ‘let slip’ that he used to have a crush on the Arrow, at some later date.

After their bodies were both decidedly and pleasantly sore, laying on the carpet in the living room and laughing about rug burns, Len had prodded his arm and declared, “I need to meet her.”

Which, well, Barry couldn’t argue with. And Iris definitely wanted to meet Barry’s ‘nefarious (c)older man’ as she’d taken to calling him, so a few days later, Iris was coming for dinner at Len’s place. They’d agreed to leave Eddie out of this dinner for the time being. Baby steps.

Of course, Len decided to pull out all the stops for dinner, making a few courses and buying a decadent chocolate gateau (Iris would love it), and he was was wearing a black button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up so his forearms were showing. The shirt was a pleasantly tight fit and Barry hadn’t seen him dressed like that before, but _damn_. Barry might be salivating, his boyfriend looked too good in black. He almost wanted to cancel dinner and just enjoy the evening themselves, enjoy undressing Len one button at a time, and Len was smirking like he knew _exactly_ what that shirt was doing to Barry, but then the buzzer rang.

A minute later, he was introducing Len and Iris.

“A pleasure to meet you, Iris. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Snart.”

It was a dig. Iris wasn’t over the age thing. “Please, call me Len.”

She arched an eyebrow and Barry started to sweat. But dinner seemed to go okay, and before too long Len was coaxing embarrassing stories out of Iris, like that time in high school where Barry’s science project had most definitely caused the entire school to be evacuated and they’d had to call a bomb squad.

“A bomb squad?”

“For real—he accidentally made some volatile crystal structure that would explode if it was moved too quickly. We weren’t allowed back to school for two days.”

Barry was groaning and then worried when Len was giving him a calculating stare. “I am not making you explosives, Len!”

He just shrugged, “It was worth a shot.”

And, thankfully, Iris actually laughed at that. And then got the bright idea to ask Len if she could interview ‘Captain Cold’ for the Picture News, which—

“I would love that.”

Barry was not expecting him to agree to.

“I bet Lisa would be happy to interview as Golden Glider as well, though you won’t get much out of Mick.”

And oh no, they were actually talking after that, Iris leaning forward and so excited she almost forgot about the chocolate cake, Len launching into stories of old heists. Their newfound camaraderie didn’t stop Len from being jealous though, and after Iris finally left, Barry got to make good on what he wanted to do that shirt.

 

*********

 

A month after they had officially started dating, Cisco and Len had become friends.

Barry didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Laugh because he was happy his friend and his boyfriend got along so well, or cry because their combined sense of humor was maybe the worst thing this side of Central City. He couldn’t handle the back and forth swapping of bad puns and indecipherable movie references. They needed to be stopped. It didn’t help that Lisa and Cisco were also dating.

Double dates were always weird and awkward, even though Len didn’t seem to notice. Lisa was all long gazes and innuendo in Cisco’s direction, and in turn he was completely dopey-eyed. It seemed like the only thing he liked more than her simpers was when she stopped playing cute and decided to let her more aggressive side show. Beyond that continuous second-hand embarrassment, there was the added trauma of walking in on Cisco and Lisa making out in one of the many storage rooms at STAR Labs, which they would never speak of again. Barry was also pretty sure he’d seen Cisco designing a set of matching couples t-shirts "I stole his/her heart" online one day, and he wondered how Cisco would ever convince Lisa to wear the silly thing but he needn't have worried. Len had shown up a week later with the "I stole his heart’ version on, definitely intended for Barry. They seriously needed to be stopped.

Their friendship did have some benefits though. For one, Cisco had a better memory than Barry and eventually got around to asking Len what he’d done with Deadline’s slow-gun. As it turned out, he’d broken it into about fifty pieces and scattered them at the bottom of the ocean which… Barry was totally okay with. He was slightly less okay with Len then sharing what he’d learned about the gun and the tachyon research from Mercury labs that had created it, before it had been stolen by a criminal element. He was _definitely_ less okay with how he kept hearing the words like ‘job’ and ‘Mercury’ and 'blueprints' whenever he walked into a room with Cisco and Len for about a week after that, each of them tossing him furtive glances when it happened. Barry eventually invoked the no-secrets at the lab clause and forbade Cisco from trying to steal any research from Mercury, even if did connect to tachyons and maybe the speed force. Then Len tried to distract him with sex, which... might have been successful. Cisco never did steal the research though.

The other thing that happened thanks to their friendship was Len finding out about Eobard’s hidden security cameras from before. Barry never knew how they got on these topics, but Len still had questions about time travel and all sorts of things related to the wormhole and the other dimension they were sort-of kind-of trying to deal with. Most of those questions were directed to Cisco. So he really shouldn’t have been too surprised to wander back to their table at Cisco and Lisa’s favorite bar one evening, drinks in hand, to hear—

“Wait, you’re telling me he had cameras all over each of your houses—living room, kitchens, bedrooms, everything?”

“That’s right, man—and at our jobs, too! He even tapped Iris and Eddie’s place, right Barr?”

Barry dropped the drinks on the table and sat down next to Len. “That’s right. Getting rid of them all was a pain.”

“And he _watched_ them?” Len was giving Barry a meaningful look and oh— _oh_.

His face grew hot. “Umm. About that.”

Lisa looked between them and then started to laugh. “Oh boys, now that is something.”

“It’s not—it was disturbing! Eobard called us _cute_.”

“I had repressed this,” Cisco mumbled, “I had gloriously repressed this. Why are we talking about this?”

“You knew?” Lisa’s eyes were bright and intense on Cisco. “And you didn’t share this piece of gossip?”

“It’s not gossip if everyone knows, Sis.” Len glared at her, and pretty much at everyone for a minute.

“If it makes you feel any better, I made sure Gideon—the AI?—destroyed all the recordings,” Barry ventured, taking a sip of his water.

“You did _what?!_ ”

“Wait, why are you mad?”

“You erased our sex tape? I would have watched that!” Len actually seemed scandalized, and Barry just dropped his head onto the table, too red and too sober for this. Cisco and Lisa were laughing, at least.

 

*********

 

Three months after they had officially started dating, they had their first fight.

Barry had gone to Starling for the weekend, glad for a chance to see his friends. He’d tried to convince Len to come along, but the other has claimed he wanted to spend time with Mick that weekend, having seen less of his friend in the past few months. Barry had been pretty sure that was just code for ‘I don’t want to meet the Arrow’ but now, watching the news from Starling, gnashing his teeth, he understood that it was actually code for stealing a world-class violin that was priced at over ten million dollars.

“Ten _fucking_ million, Len?! What the hell?!”

Barry was livid.

“Is it really the price tag that’s the problem?” Len drawled on the other end of the line, sounding way too smug. Barry had called him as soon as he’d seen the news. Felicity had flicked it on when her phone pinged and Oliver had given him this _look_. Neither of them had met Len yet and then he went and pulled _this_ the weekend Barry visited Starling?!

“No it isn’t the price tag! It’s the fact that the first heist you pull after we start dating is when you _knew_ I would be out of town!”

“Of course—why wouldn’t I use that information to my advantage?”

“How long have you been planning this?”

“Long enough to convince you to spend the weekend visiting friends.”

“You manipulated me?”

“I…” Len blew out a breath over the phone, voice sounding more pinched when he replied. “Would you rather be in town, trying to decide between stopping me and letting me steal? I was trying to make it easy for you, Barry.”

Barry let out an aggravated sigh in response. He didn’t like that he was making Len sound anxious, and didn’t like that they were in this position at all. He ceased his pacing and dropped down to lean against the nearest wall. He was in the alley behind Verdant and the Arrow foundry.

“You’re such an idiot, sometimes, Len. How is it fair to use our relationship to help you steal?”

“Fair?”

“We’re supposed to be nemeses or something—shouldn’t I at least get the _chance_ to stop you?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and then Len was chuckling. Barry didn’t see what was so funny.

“My, my, Barry,” he had his seductive voice on, but why—“If you wanted to play _cops and robbers_ with me, you could have just said.”

“I—well when you say it like _that_ —”

“Oh don’t worry, Barry, I won’t say no to playing. If you want, I can even pick up a set of handcuffs on my way home today. We’ve both already got costumes.”

“Len!” his face was burning, not the least of which was because that sounded like fun. “I can’t believe you.”

Len was still chuckling. “Hurry home, dear.”

“You’re the worst.”

“But you love me.”

“I do,” Barry smiled when he said it, knowing it would carry into his voice. “And tell Mick and Lisa I send my congratulations on your stupid heist.”

“Say hi to the Arrow from me.”

Which Barry was stupid enough to do, when he went back inside. Of course, then Oliver and Felicity insisted on coming back to Central with him—Oliver to put on his suit and threaten to shoot Len full of arrows as his requisite version of the shovel-talk, and Felicity to eat popcorn and watch. It really wasn’t the way he wanted them all to finally meet, and it really didn’t help that Len took a total of five minutes around the Arrow to deduce that Barry used to have a crush on Oliver. Which he could have dealt with, except that the realization prompted a rather _public_ display of affection from Len, a searing kiss that left him a bit breathless, and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be looking Oliver or Felicity in the eye anytime soon.

A week later, Felicity phoned Barry to let him know that she’d found a large donation had been made to the pier reconstruction project and a matching one to a fund for the families of violent crimes. Both had been placed anonymously, but she'd traced them to same name, Leonard Allen. Len was more embarrassed that she told Barry about the supposed-to-be-a-secret donation than about the name choice.

 

*********

 

Six months after they had officially started dating, Joe finally invited Len to the family Sunday dinners.

It was a relatively new tradition, a way to put aside some of the craziness that their lives had become, and a way to reconnect. Iris and Eddie would come over and, they along with Joe and Barry, would make a meal and catch up for an hour or two. Joe had imposed it as a consequence of Iris and Eddie being engaged, wanting to build family time into their routine, and Barry would readily admit he loved it. However, part of him also lamented the lack of invite for Len. He didn’t press it, didn’t ask Joe to break bread with a man he’d put behind bars more than once, but it was a sore spot between them. And Barry still didn’t know exactly what he was going to do about it in a week when he moved in with Len.

Len didn’t worry about it, hadn’t given it much thought at all since they started dating. He and West didn’t particularly get along the few times they’d had to play nice and be in the same room. Barry had insisted they sit down and _talk_ at least, after they’d started dating, but the conversation had consisted mostly of pointed glares and long silences, until even Barry couldn’t stand it anymore and whisked him out of there. After that, he and West had managed to only see one another the few times he was at Barry’s house, picking him up or being cajoled in by one of Barry’s more lascivious expressions.

He wouldn’t lie—not running into West was at least part of the reason he had asked Barry to move in with him. The larger reason, of course, was because he wanted Barry by his side day and night, in his bed each morning next to him. But it would be nice for Barry _not_ to live with his surrogate father, because it definitely felt weird dating someone still living with his father. Len didn’t need the reminder of the age difference, and hadn’t even lived with his own father since he was a teenager, though of course that was an extenuating circumstance. Regardless, he’d asked Barry to move in and Barry had happily agreed, and there had been kissing, and well… it had been a good night.

But now, a few days before Barry was set to move, Len found himself parked outside the West house again, and wasn’t particularly happy about it. He wasn’t particularly happy about anything at the moment, given that Barry was injured and exhausted.

“Remind me again why you failed to mention that there was a _giant telepathic gorilla_ roaming the sewers of Central City?”

“His name is Grodd and I thought he was dead, okay?”

Normally, Barry’s voice would be raised delivering a line like that, but right now he was apparently too exhausted. They were in their regular clothes again, having gone back to STAR Labs to regroup after getting away from that monster, and then Len drove him back to his place. It was Sunday, so he’d be having dinner with the Wests—his last Sunday dinner before he moved in with Len.

And he was really just planning on dropping Barry off and leaving, but his boyfriend was half-asleep on the car ride home and Len felt too guilty dropping him off without making sure he made it in and had something to eat, or at least got his shoes off before passing out, so he followed Barry in. West would be home in an hour he knew, the man had said something back at STAR Labs about finishing up a report.

But Barry didn't even bother going upstairs to bed. He walked straight to the couch and collapsed onto it, so Len went to the kitchen and found him a bag of chips to tide him over until his dinner. He nudged Barry to sit up and the other grumbled but complied while he sat down on the empty cushion and offered the bag to Barry.

“At least eat before you pass out, dear?”

Len loved calling Barry ‘dear,’ but he only got away with it when the other was half-asleep or indulgent, just like he only got away with ‘handsome’ when he was seducing Barry.

And the chips were gone in record time and good, Len could get out of here now, satisfied Barry wouldn’t perish from hypoglycemia. But when he was about to stand, Barry laid down on top of him, pulling Len’s legs onto the couch so he could settle between them, head on his chest, arms wrapping around his sides. It was done too quick to be normal but not fast enough to be alarming.

“You’re just gonna’ use me as a pillow, Scarlet?”

“Mmmm,” was the only reply Barry felt the need to supply, snuggling in closer. He was warm as hell, half sitting still with his back against the side of the couch, which for the record was definitely too small for the both of them, but what could he do? He wrapped an arm around Barry and tried to get comfortable. He was actually nodding off himself when West arrived.

Len’s eyes snapped open as the door opened, head whipping to look over the back of the couch to the door. The detective stalled there for a minute, and them cuddling up on his couch was clearly not what he’d expected to see. Then he visibly seemed to force himself to relax, came all the way in and closed the door. Finally, Len's eyes still on him, West stepped closer to peer over the couch at Barry’s sleeping form. At that, his expression softened more naturally.

“He’s out like a light,” the man half-whispered, clearly amused and fond. Len forced his own body to relax as well.

“He’s had a long day,” he whispered back.

“Uh huh. You’re gonna’ be stuck there for a while, doesn’t look like he’s moving anytime soon.”

Len looked down at Barry nodded, then back up at the detective, trying to figure out what his angle was.

“D’you want a beer?”

Len blinked. Was this a trick? “A beer?”

West was moving then, toward the kitchen. “Seems to me you might as well be comfortable.”

This was new. But he accepted the beer that West brought over to him, cold from the fridge and definitely a pleasant respite from the crazy day he’d had.

“Thank you. I’ll be out of your hair soon as he’s up,” he mumbled, still trying to keep his voice low.

“You should stay.” His eyes snapped up. “Sunday dinner tonight. And once he moves out, you should start coming around for those dinners with Iris and Eddie.”

And it clicked. Barry was moving in with him. West was letting Len stick around because if he didn’t, he might be seeing a lot less of Barry, of his son, than he otherwise would. But it would make Barry happy, Len knew, so he nodded. “I can do that.”

And then, like a peace offering, West supplied, “He misses you when you’re not here.”

Oddly enough, for a minute the West house felt like home.

 

**********

 

Exactly one year after they had officially started dating, they both proposed.

It was fucking ridiculous, they both later agreed. How the hell had they both managed to pick the same date and time to do this? And given how bad Barry was at lying and how little Len liked keeping secrets from him, it was amazing either had managed to surprise the other. And then they realized, over dinner, discussing how they’d each been planning it for months, that of course it was too easy. They had each been relieved the other wanted to have a big and romantic anniversary dinner, each been secretly getting the other’s ring size with help from Lisa and Iris, each been so focused on hiding their own plans they’d missed all the signs of the other’s.

Of course, they both said yes. And while the last year had had its ups and downs, and nothing was ever perfect, they both agreed it was better together.

 

 

**END FOR REAL THIS TIME**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this wild ride as much as I did!
> 
> Come see me at coldtomyflash.tumblr.com for more ColdFlash and commentary! You can check out the “73 seconds” tag there for posts about this fic
> 
>  
> 
> ps - That 'volatile crystal structure' story comes from my friend's dad, though it was in university. They actually did have to call the bomb squad.


End file.
